


Refrain

by IndridGrey



Series: Open Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Body Dysphoria, Consent Issues in First Chapter, F/F, Female Alpha, Female Alpha/Female Omega - Freeform, Female Dean Winchester/Female Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester Loves His Children and Does His Best, Other Tags At Start of Chapters, Pre-Stanford, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-20 05:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12426117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndridGrey/pseuds/IndridGrey
Summary: If the whole emotional roller coaster thing could just stop now, that'd be great because D would like to get the fuck off, please and thank you.  But it all comes down to Sammy.  Always has.OR: One of the shittiest days of D's life, followed by one of the best





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babybrotherdean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/gifts).



> Gifted/dedicated to babybrotherdean, who has been a huuuuge influence on how I view and love Dean and John 
> 
> Note: This is very much from D's POV, and there's a lot of context that she doesn't know about yet
> 
> Additional tags: dubcon between Sam and D, attempted (thwarted) sexual assault by omc, sexual dysfunction

A yawn staggered out of D as she stared blearily at the sign in the motel office window blazing O-P-E-N, red-yellow-blue-green, in the deep night dark.  God, she was tired.  How the hell had she not been dozing off?  She glanced over at her sister, who was staring at the office with her backpack in her lap.  Not seething, so that was something.  Their dad returned to his truck and D trailed him to the back of the motel where there were a few cars of other people stranded for the night.  She was a little surprised to see over half of the building haphazardly roped off.  Several signs were taped around the area stating only RENNOVATION.  Sam gave a quiet, derisive huff and D almost jumped.  The kid had been dead silent since dinner.

Sam was out of the car as soon as it was in park and they grabbed their bags while their dad unlocked the door to the room.  It was nice out.  If D had realized, she would have rolled the windows down and let the breeze help keep her alert.  Her dad sighed and D looked up just in time to catch his glance at Sam from where he was lingering in the doorway with a grimace on his face.  D paused at the door when she saw why.

“Sorry, girls, but it’s their only available room.”

There was only one bed and the couch was large but too misshapen to be a pull-out.  Great, like Sam needed a reason to be grumpy.  A sad attempt at an adrenaline rush seeped through D in anticipation of having to intercept a fight.

“So I’m sleeping outside,” came the predictable bitching.

“Sorry, kiddo.  We should’ve stopped back at the last actual city we passed.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Sam bit out and shoulder-checked their dad on her way into the room.  D zoned out, hazy mind tracking the impact like it was in slow mo, and there was definitely not a gnawing feeling just under her solar plexus and even if there was, it in no way resembled hunger.  Nope.

D gave their dad a sympathetic not-smile and followed Sam inside.  Dad immediately got to work laying down salt lines and D loitered, setting her keys on the little table and draping her jacket on a chair as she watched Sam in her peripheral check for bedbugs before putting her duffel on the bed.  As soon as Sam closed the bathroom door behind herself, D walked straight to the bed, set her own bags down, plucked a dirty shirt out of Sam’s duffel, and stuffed it under one of the pillows.  She was pretty sure Sam didn’t know that she did this, otherwise she wouldn’t hear the end of it, so it didn’t hurt to try to be sneaky.  It was embarrassing enough that Dad knew.  Plus, as the older sister, D was supposed to be the only one with good teasing material.  It was just that she didn’t sleep well without Sam’s scent in the room.  Perfectly normal pack comfort stuff.  Except she’d never had the same problem with Dad’s scent.  She tried not to think about it too much.

D was sitting on the bed and their dad was focused on his journal at the table when Sam exited the bathroom, minty fresh with bangs damp from face washing.  She barely spared D a glance when she hefted her duffel again alongside her backpack and started walking back to the door.

She reached for the keys to Baby but Dad jingled his own. “Nope.  The truck, Sammy.”

Sam sneered out a correction on the nickname, snatched the dangling keys, and slammed the door behind her.

“Why can’t she sleep in the car?”  Even though it sucked when Sam had to sleep somewhere else, D could look forward to the extra Sam-scent that would be lingering in Baby the next day, especially if she had—wait, what if that was why?  Surely Dad didn’t know about that, though, since he was almost never in the Impala anymore.

Dad leaned back in his chair and regarded her.  “How are you doing on suppressants and birth control?”

If she weren’t so tired she would have never let the pout at being ignored make it to her face.  Thankfully, Dad was ignoring that too.  “Just got birth control, so good for a few months.  I’ll need more suppressants within a couple weeks.”

He nodded, traded his journal for sleep clothes and toothbrush from his duffel, and went for his turn in the bathroom.

D moved Sam’s shirt from under the pillow to between the pillow and its case, as close as she could get it to her without broadcasting it to the world.  She glanced around the room—baseball-themed and somehow almost exactly like every other motel room they’ve been in the past year, although the pale wood-patterned vinyl flooring was a new one—and sighed.  She spent a good few seconds gathering her energy and debating before she stood, shimmied out of her jeans, and brought her right foot up onto the bed.  She leaned in and pressed gently against her latest wound.  Half the front of her shin was finally turning faded yellow and the stitched skin wasn’t warm.  Still no infection, and healed up enough now that there wasn’t much risk of one anymore.  She could probably take the stitches out in a day or two if they didn’t drive nonstop like they did today.  D didn’t know if it was possible to bruise around stitches from flexing the skin too much, but that’s what it felt like.

The bathroom door swung open and a couple beats later Dad paused halfway to the couch.  He looked over at D, stared at her stitches for a moment, and flicked his gaze over the pillow before meeting her eyes.  He switched routes and came towards her; she dropped her foot back to the ground and angled to him.  He had that look, so similar to when they first lost Mom, sad beyond D’s comprehension.  It had mostly phased out as Sam was growing up but had been making a comeback over the past few years, since Sam hit beta-puberty.

“Dad?”

He pulled her flush against his chest and tucked his head down on top of hers.  She stayed still, confused but soothed by the scent of her pack leader.  Still not as good a balm as Sam-scent, especially so tinged by mourning, but pretty close.

“You girls.  You’re all I have, y’know,” he said with a thick voice.

“I know, Dad.”

“I _need_ you to be careful and safe.  Y’hear me?”

D ducked her head a little in shame.  Of course he knew.  “I know, Dad,” quiet and meek.

His stubble scratched loud against her hair when he nodded.  He stepped back, gaze flicking back on the healing gash.  “I mean it.  No matter what happens between you and Sammy, I need you to watch out for her.”  His eyes met hers, wet and determined, and he said something he’d never said before, “And I need you to watch out for yourself.  Promise me, Deanna.”

Her shoulders tucked in close and she felt a lot more exposed than just in her underwear and shirts.  Her throat closed in on a dozen protests that reared up and she had to clear it to whisper out, “Yeah, Dad.”  She dragged her eyes back up from the floor and leaned forward a little.  “I’m sorr—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head and a quick gesture.  “Just keep that promise.  Now go get ready for bed.  We’ll stay in town a couple days, rest, resupply, and let your leg finish healing neat.”

“We don’t have to, I’m fine.”

But her Dad ignored her again, and headed back to start setting up the couch.

She hesitated, then grabbed her duffel and closed the bathroom door behind herself.  It had the standard toilet between a yellowed tub and a shelf-like counter with a basin dark with fissures.  The mirror was a little smaller than normal and her reflection was pale under the barely-there bruise, freckles, and dark circles.

Shit.  Really, she should have known he’d figure it out.  She should’ve known better, too.  It hadn’t even worked anyway.

She threw her bag on the counter and it hit their shared toothpaste, sending it tumbling into the sink.  She growled in frustration and squatted and folded herself into the open space underneath the counter.  The tile probably wouldn’t feel like it had a direct line to her hip bones if she were shaped right.  She wrapped one arm around herself, brought her knees up under her chin, and curled her other hand over her stitches.  She pressed hard, harder, punishing, because she deserved it for being pathetic and a moron.

It’d been a simple enough hunt where the ghost didn’t take too kindly to being salted and burned.  D had seen the broken headstone from a mile off while going after the ghost with a fireplace poker, even in the moonlit drizzle.  When she had lunged forward to disperse the spirit and lost her footing right in front of the jagged ruins, a thought had occurred to her, siren song, and she suppressed her reflexes and fell hard, slicing through her jeans and shin and banging her chin on a neighboring footstone when her hands slipped on wet vegetation.

To D’s dismay, Sam had taken over the hunt, and it was Dad who rushed to her side and patted her down.  It was also Dad who stitched her up.  That, even more than the fall, had left D dazed and smarting.  Sam had been the one to take care of D’s injuries ever since she’d graduated from practicing on fruit.  Sam had avoided her for the next couple of days even more than she had been before.  That night had been worse than the past several months combined.  D hadn’t really needed confirmation that Sam knew exactly what she was doing, but she got it anyway.

She just couldn’t figure out what she’d done wrong.  She’d asked once, when it’d just been a couple days—“what crawled up your ass and died?”—but Sam hadn’t responded besides dodging the light, egging jab.

D hadn’t noticed how much she used touch to connect with Sam until Sam started avoiding all contact.  It fucking _sucked_.

Another thing that sucked?  Sitting on cold tile in your underwear.  She unfolded out and up and avoided looking at her reflection as she took care of things and changed into her pajamas.  Her clothes were about the only thing besides ammo and shelter that they spent significant money on, and especially lately she was immensely grateful.  Band shirts and extra-worn flannel were fine for the day, but in addition to Sam-scent, super soft lounge clothes and pajamas were practically necessary for actual relaxation.  Sometimes D wondered if the lack of heats and fat deposits made her omega overcompensate by making her damn near dependent on what were, to alphas and betas, mere “creature comforts” in order to not go out of her mind.  Alongside Sam-touches, apparently, because she was going out of her _fucking goddamn mind_. 

She scowled and pulled her hair up into a bun so it wouldn’t get in the way of smelling Sam through the pillow cover.  She spared her reflection one more glance.  God, with her hair up she looked even more like an effeminate fifteen-year-old beta boy, sonuva _bitch_.

Dad was settled on the couch and had left only the lamp on the nightstand on.  The orange light made the entire room look decades older and made D, apparently delirious from exhaustion, think of gummy bears and marshmallow peanuts.  She had five dollars somewhere in her duffel, she should buy some licorice tomorrow.

The sheets were bleach-coarse like usual and D was glad her longer pajama bottoms had been clean.  Licorice and laundry tomorrow.  She clicked off the lamp and tried not to be embarrassingly obvious in her shifting of Sam’s shirt.  Then the air conditioner clicked off just as she started making final arrangements, leaving a void of sound which was all too happy to be filled by the scratching of the pillowcase and sheets and D’s soft huffs.

She finally settled, brought the sheet up to her chin, and stared at the glowing curtains.  Restless frustration unfurled up her spine, quick and steady.  Sam was out there, and not even in the Impala.  The last few times Sam had slept out in Baby, she’d rubbed one out, leaving the especially intense scent combination of her sweat, slick, faint alpha pheromones, and still-sterile ejaculate.  Sam had been awkward the next morning that first time, but, honestly?  Being immersed in such strong Sam-scent had put part of D more at ease than she had been in a long time, even since before Sam had started whatever the fuck this no-touching thing was.  But now Sam was in the fucking _truck_ —

“D, you need to calm down.”

She could only barely make out the couch in the dark, and her dad hadn’t moved.  She tucked the sheet tighter across herself because sometimes being a little constrained helped—not this time.  She put one of the extra pillows on her waist because sometimes she could pretend she was little again and Sam was tucked against her—not this time.  She yanked Sam’s shirt out from under the pillowcase, subtly be fucked, and smothered herself in it—nope.  She growled and kicked the comforter off the bed and thrashed under the sheets.

“Deanna!”

She stilled at the bark; she hadn’t even noticed her dad get up, let alone cross the room.  She peeked up at his silhouette.  The inside of her skin was being clawed by the absence of her sister.  God, she was fucked up and pathetic.  Maybe she didn’t deserve licorice after all, if she couldn’t even calm herself down when she was about two minutes from passing out.

“I need you to calm down before Sam breaks down the door to find out why you smell so stressed.”

And that didn’t make any goddamn sense because Sammy hadn’t popped yet and could barely smell enough to tell someone’s designation.  She wouldn’t be able to pick up on the nuances of D’s scent even if she were lying right next to her, let alone while in a vehicle with two closed doors between them, what the fuck was Dad talking about?

A small confused noise slipped out of her and he sighed and rounded to the other side of the bed.  D half-sat up in surprise when he laid and settled down beside her on top of the only remaining covers on the bed.

“Sleep, D.”

She wanted to protest that she could literally crush the windpipe of an alpha twice her size with her bare hands if push came to shove and she was absolutely not some three-year-old who needed their pack leader like a teddy bear during a thunderstorm.  Honestly, though, it was kind of grounding.  She laid back down, turned to him.

“Can Sam come back in and take the couch?”

For a long moment she thought he was ignoring her again or had honestly fallen asleep.

Then, “I don’t think that’d be a good idea right now, sweetheart.”  His voice was soft with that deep sadness, and his large, warm hand settled on her head for a moment before retreating again.

D curled a little tighter and held the shirt close.

She’d make Sam buy her licorice tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

D snapped out of her half-dreaming haze when it registered that her right hand was in a very inappropriate place considering her dad was sharing the bed.  She sighed in relief when she opened her eyes and found the other side unoccupied.  Thank God, because the sheet had ended up around her knees.  She slid her hand out of her panties and rubbed at her eyes.  Goddamn little sister dreams.

She sat up and her yawn caught in her throat—Sam was staring at her.  The narrow eyes were dark and intense at first, but they brightened with Sam’s smirk.

“You always fondle yourself when you steal my clothes to drool on?”

D didn’t need her dignity anyways.

“ _You_ fondle yourself and drool.  And whaddaya mean ‘always’?”  D bluffed.

“You’re not as sneaky as you like to think.  Did you really think I wouldn’t notice how clothes went missing for exactly the same amount of time you and Dad left me behind for more than a day?  I was little, not oblivious.”

So Sam had known and hadn’t said anything?  Unexpected.  D grumbled and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, releasing the yawn from before.  She started teasing her hair out of the tangled mess that inevitably formed when she slept with it up.  The band snapped against her fingers when it broke and Sam chuckled at her hearty cussing.  She fucking hated having long hair, but having it halfway down her shoulder blades helped mask the pheromones from her nape scent glands.  She may smell less potent due to the suppressants, but an unclaimed omega was still an unclaimed omega.

They’d tried to have her be the one to sleep out in the car first, when she was 17.  D had been woken up at one in the morning by two assholes trying to open the passenger side doors, cooing with their alpha voices for her to let them in.  Thankfully, Dad had somehow known and swung the motel door open, shotgun at the ready.  Sammy had been right beside their dad, pistol unwavering and aimed at the head of the alpha that hadn’t backed up yet, looking livid and far too dangerous for someone barely past menarche.  D was pretty sure that’s when her unfortunate spiral into falling in love with her little sister began.  It had also been the first time in their lives that it had been Sam protecting her instead of the other way around, and the first time that it really clicked that Sam was an alpha.  There had been a peaceful couple years before Sam’s protective understanding was replaced with teenage annoyance at having to sleep outside.

D still didn’t understand why either of them had to sleep outside in the first place and Dad refused to explain.  The closest she’d heard was a comment on how he and Sam didn’t fit in cots, and he assumed that Sam didn’t want D in a cot.  Sam had pissily conceded, and no one had bothered to ask D how she felt about cots.  And that still didn’t explain why no sleeping bags.  She mostly chalked it up to macho alpha bullshit these days.

She tousled the hair behind her ears to fall easier around her shoulders and Sam flinched in her peripheral.  D looked up to see what had happened, but there was nothing unusual except that intense look was back and Sam’s nostrils were flared.  Was she angry about something?  Nothing had even happened, what the crap?

Sam looked away.  “Dad’s out on a newspapers, breakfast, and chatting up locals run.  You should take a shower.”  A shadow of her smirk returned.  “Especially after rubbing your face all over a slobbered-on dirty shirt.”

D scoffed and stretched into standing, prematurely old joints cracking.  “Speaking of” —she yawned— “we’re doing laundry today.”  She tossed the shirt to Sam (fake nonchalance until you make it) and Sam swiped it out of the air without even looking.  Show off.  “So get your stuff ready.  Also, you’re buying me licorice.”

Disgust was etched into Sam’s face as she watched D grab her bag and head towards the bathroom.  “What?  Ew.  Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because I put up with your emo teenage angst crap.”

“Oh my god, whatever.  Don’t take forever.”

D locked the door behind her.  She was going to take her sweet-ass time, use every last drop of hot water left.  It wouldn’t be as satisfying with Sam having already taken a shower and therefore not being the shower equivalent of short-sheeted, but it was the principle of the matter.

The second she exited the bathroom 40-something minutes later, she knew she’d been had.   Sam was still at the little table, now sipping coffee and reading whatever nerdy book she’d been working on the night before.  D’s nose wasn’t fooled, though.  The sneaky bitch had reverse psycho-whatever’d her into allowing Sam time to rub one out.  She was cool with Sam going at it in the Impala because that was their space.  But that scent in some random shitty motel room in the light of day felt sacrilege.  She dropped her duffel a little more aggressively than she’d intended.  Just—mildew, old wallpaper, and bleach were infringing on Sam-sex-scent.  And D was sick and irrational.

“Sausage rolls in the baggie.  Are you going out in that?”

D glanced at her sister.  Sam’s eyebrows were high enough that they were hidden by her bangs.

“What’s wrong with it?”  Sure, it was a little more skin than D usually showed outside motel rooms and bars, but hardly anything indecent.  For all her unsubtle jilling off habits, Sam could be a hell of a prude.

“Nothing, just…”  D turned, annoyed.  Sam’s gaze drifted past the shorts to D’s shin.  Her mouth did something complicated before settling.  “People will stare.”

“It’s cute how you think I care.”

“We’re not supposed to draw attention.”

By which Sam meant they weren’t supposed to do anything that’d get CPS called.  Like let people see their injuries.

“Dude.  You’re officially old enough to do basically everything but drink, including _marry_ someone if you really wanted to.  I don’t think we need to worry about ‘attention’ anymore.”

Sam looked shocked, then distressed.

“Did you forget how old you are?” D asked incredulously.  Sure, her birthday was pretty recent, but it wasn’t that recent.

She looked downright distraught now, though.  Like literally about to cry, unhappy dimples and all.  D stepped forward on autopilot, reaching out, and was snapped back to shitty reality when Sam swiveled out of her chair to avoid D.  A new wave of frustration swelled in D’s chest.  The bathroom door slammed shut.

“Emo teenage angst _crap_!” D yelled after her.  “You’re not even that old!”

 

* * *

 

Aside from a brief exchange on where Dad had gotten off to again (supply run, at least two hours one way), the ten-minute drive to the laundry mat was awkward silence.  Sam was…. Honestly, it felt like everything Sam did just made D more lost and confused than before.  It was D’s job to look out for her and get her as close to happy as possible for a moody teenager, and it just felt like the past couple years had been an abject failure.  Sam had been sullen and angry for a while even before this no-touching thing.  Their silences used to be unfailingly companionable.  Now here they were.

It was always an exercise in sleight and juggling to load clothes caked in blood, mud, and sometimes even slime, into washers with civilians around.  If there was one good thing about barely-there towns, it was that they could usually do laundry in peace.  This time there was no one there, just a finished load in a dryer.  The place was on the small side, but they got all their clothes in wash at the same time.  Also, it seemed to be bug-free, which was always a plus.

Once all there was to do was wait, Sam settled into a plastic bucket seat with her nose already in her book.  D dragged her eyes away from the hair that was already escaping Sam’s loose French braid and resting against her nape.  Her gaze snagged on the fan of eyelashes that didn’t even need the mascara to be gorgeous against the backdrop of tan skin and high cheekbones.  If D’s life were a play or movie, she would be the tragic but boring side character that wastes away pining for the unattainable protagonist.

She finally got her eyes to behave themselves and sighed and hoisted herself up onto one of the washers.  She may as well take the opportunity; she didn’t have the luxury of being able to just rub one out whenever she liked, after all.  She spread her knees, kicked out like a kid in order to scoot forward—there.  She leaned back on locked elbows and focused on the vibrations. 

Sam, of course, had to try to ruin her fun.  “Please tell me you’re not being gross right now.”

The punk wasn’t even looking at her.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sam tsked to her book in disbelief.  “Just, like, no noises.”

“Yeah, yeah, bitch.”

“Exhibitionist jerk.”

Something almost like comfort settled around them and D slowly slid into a nap until the screech of the first buzzer jolted her fully alert.  She propped up on her elbows and chuckled when she saw that Sam was looking equally startled and the book was precarious in her lap.

“Man, Dad would kill us for being so careless if he saw us right now.”

Sam huffed in agreement as she stood.  Last year, she would have smacked D’s leg—maybe even on the stitches, if she were feeling particularly bitchy—as she passed by to the farthest washer.  D sighed and hopped off.  She rubbed sweat and numbness from the backs of her thighs as she ambled down to assist with switching loads.  Last year, she’d have hip-checked Sam, who’d have knocked back harder, and they might’ve ended up in a wet laundry fight.

As it was, they worked in quiet efficiency and returned to their places.  D laid across the washers this time, head nearest to Sam and knees in the air.  She contemplated wasting a few quarters on empty washers, but she figured she’d just end up with a headache.  Also, the bottom of her vulva was still prickling awake.  She started hitting her thighs together, clapping out Smoke on the Water until Sam snapped at her to stop.  She sighed and balanced one leg on the other at the knees and tucked her hands behind her head.  She needed a long weed stalk to chew on.  She was busy tapping Ramble On into the air with her boot toe when the bell on the door announced an arrival.

It was a girl.  A cute beta girl who looked about 20.  A cute beta girl who looked about 20 who apparently abandoned her underwear in laundry mat dryers.  D lifted a hand in greeting, which was returned with a sheepish smile.   She probably shouldn’t be staring so blatantly, but she was bored and a cute girl was folding cute panties.  How was D supposed to not watch that?

D was about to do the respectable thing and ignore her, when she caught on that the girl wasn’t just glancing at the stitches, she was glancing at D’s _legs_.  Well then.  D arched back to check on Sam, who was predictably ignoring them, before she turned over and around and crawled over flimsy lids to the farthest washer, right next to the folding table where little towers of panties were being built.

The girl looked a little taken aback, but her lips curled up as she watched D situate herself into sitting on the edge of the washer, angled towards her.  D flipped her hair out of her face and put on her best innocent flirty smile.  “Hi.”

“Hi.”  The girl nodded towards D’s shin.  “Looks like it hurts.”

“Nah, barely even feel it anymore.”  Actually, this may be the first time D had an injury or scar with the potential to be sexy.  Please ask, please ask, please ask—

“What happened?”

Score.  “Roller derby.”  Maroon lips fell open in surprise.  D loved how exotic some things seemed to people stuck in the boonies.  “Girls zipping around in short skirts can be distracting.”

“I know how that goes.  I was on the cheerleading team,” the girl commiserated with a sly grin.

Sweet Jesus yes.  “Ouch.”

“For better or worse, no one seemed to notice.  Small town, y’know.  ‘Those types’ all live in the cities, obviously.”  She rolled her eyes and finished the last of her folding.

“Sounds rough.”

She gave D a little smile and started relocating the panty towers and bundles of socks into a fabric-lined wicker basket—so gloriously country.  “It can be, especially with being one of a handful of Black folks around.  This town is good people, though, as long as you don’t stick out _too_ much.”

“You thought about moving?”

D was kind of in love with how all those curls bobbed a little with her nod.  “Another couple months and I’ll be applying to college.  Thinking about going into journalism.  You in school?”

A little ache made itself known between D’s lungs.  She chuckled.  “Nah, not my scene.  I’m just fine in the family business—get to see new places, meet cute girls in laundry mats.”

The coquettish smile was absolutely stunning and D was pretty sure she was legit blushing, which never happened.

“There’s not a whole lot to see around here.”  The smile retreated up to glittering brown eyes.  “I’d offer to show you around, but your girlfriend already looks pretty angry.”

“What?”

The girl tilted her head toward Sam, who indeed was glaring from under her bangs.  Girlfriend.  It was a damn good thing that the other two were both nose-blind because the amount of pheromones that just leaked out of D was borderline public indecency, which was a fucking feat on suppressants.  _Girlfriend_.

“Who, Sam?  She always looks like that, don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

Of course D wasn’t sure.  As much as she loved sex, and as gorgeous as this girl was, D would pass on her offer in a heartbeat if Sam vocalized a protest that wasn’t just about chores.  Which was precisely why D needed to get laid: to get Sam and how fucked up D was over her off her mind for one goddamn minute.  And she needed some human touch from someone besides her dad.

“Yeah, I’m sure.  I’m D, by the way.”

“Cassie,” with a brilliant grin.  “We can take my car, in case Sam needs to go somewhere?”

“Awesome.  Just gimme a second.”  D hopped off the washer and kept her eyes on the scuffed linoleum to avoid Sam’s glare as she dug out her keys on the walk over.

“I’d say I can’t believe you’re picking up a chick at a laundry mat, but honestly I’m not all that surprised.  It is the middle of the day, though.”

D grinned and tossed the keys to Sam, who caught them effortless as always.  “Jealousy is a bad color on you, sis.”  D ignored the ways Sam stiffened, because who the fuck could parse out the reason for any of Sam’s reactions these days.  “Afternoon delight is _the best_ way to spend an afternoon. If I’m not back in time to help finish up, I’ll waive your licorice obligation and have Cassie drop me off at the motel.  Stay out of trouble.”

D flashed a smile over her shoulder as she walked away when she heard the grumbled “so generous.”  She held the door open for Cassie and followed her to the POS truck.  She gave Sam a cheeky wave as they pulled out of the parking space and only felt a little hollow when she got a middle finger in return.

 

* * *

 

“KEYS!”  D felt odd, mean triumph when Sam startled so hard that she dropped her book.  No way was that thing so enthralling.  Sam had a hand against her chest like an old lady.  “Hurry it up!”

Her sister scowled and picked up the keys.  “You want me to throw them all the way over there?”  She asked with an air of incredulity.

“Afraid you’ll throw like a girl?”  D rocked against the door, making the bell clink over and over.

“You’re a girl too, you just insulted yourself.”

“Yeah, whatever, come on!”

Sam wound back and chucked the keys and they sailed perfect across the laundry mat.  D snatched them out of the air and felt that weird triumph again.

“Come get me for folding,” D instructed.  She let the bell chime one last time before she headed out to the Impala.

She spent the next 10 minutes lying in the front seat playing air drums to blasted Master of Puppets and deliberately not thinking about anything until Sam knocked on the windshield.

D took the keys out of the ignition without sitting up, dropped them on her stomach, and ran her hands through her hair.  She sighed.  Nope.  Checked the glovebox—all out of menthols, just like she thought.  And she’d smoked the last of her MJ a few weeks ago and had yet to see a group of teenagers loitering around.  She groaned, checked herself in the rearview mirror for stray maroon lipstick, and got out of Baby.

Sam was almost done transferring clothes from dryers to the folding table, so D set about sorting them into piles.  At least there was something soothing about warm clothes.  When she got to her favorite sweater—so fucking soft she’d almost purred when she had first touched it and begged her dad to get it for her—she glanced around.

“Don’t turn around for a sec.”

“What?  Why?”  But Sam listened to her for once and stayed facing the dryers.  D shucked off her shirts and pulled the sweater over her head and it was almost as good as a cigarette, tobacco or otherwise.

“Alright, you’re good.”

Sam turned and gaped.  Her arms loosened enough that a sock fell free.  “Oh my God, D, do you have _any shame_?  That whole wall is windows!”

“There’s no one out there,” D reasoned.  She flicked her hair and amulet out of the sweater and set her shirts aside.  “Plus, I told you not to look, right?  That’s gotta count for something in the shame department.”

Sam’s walk over was stiff, and she was more aggressive when she went back to swipe the sock off the floor than D thought was really necessary.  Just a few months ago D would’ve asked what her problem was.  She finished sorting the clothes and they started folding.

The tense silence lasted a couple minutes before Sam sighed and loosened her body language.  She sounded jaded when she asked, “Did you have fun with ‘Cassie’?”

Ugh.  “I ended up teaching her some sex ed.”

“That didn’t take long.  A little lacking in the stamina department, were you?”  D was a little resentful that Sam’s teasing tone and smirk soothed her.

“No, I mean _teaching_.  Like lecturing and miming and her practically taking notes.  Just my luck.”

Cassie had freaked out when she found D bone dry even after ten minutes of heavy making out, and then had a seemingly never-ending flow of questions after D tried to explain that that was normal for someone on heavy-duty suppressants.  Apparently, this town had even fewer omegas than Black people, and they weren’t allowed in school after they presented.  What had remained of D’s libido had vanished after hearing that.

“She was under the impression that omegas have no interest in sex unless they’re _sure_ they’ll be impregnated.  I mean, who the hell taught her health class?  Fuckin’ small towns, man.”

Sam smiled.  “Deanna Winchester: educating America’s youth one misinformed country bumpkin at a time.  Truly, an inspiration.”

D was so grateful for the teasing that she didn’t even mind the use of her full name.  “Screw you.”

“Well, you _definitely_ wouldn’t get pregnant,” Sam retorted.  They both froze.  “Shit.  That was—sorry.”

D braced herself for another humiliating gush of pheromones, but it didn’t come.  Huh, guess being reminded that they were both fucked up on a biological level would do that.  She almost started to reach out to touch Sam; she took a deep inhale instead.

“It’s…it’s been a few years since we last went to a doctor for anything except emergencies, maybe we should—”

“No.”

“Sam—”

“No, D.  It’d be a waste of time and money.  I know what’s happening, and it’s not something a doctor can fix.”

Now Sam was doing an impression of Dad’s forlorn expression.  Were they in on something?  Sam started folding again, avoiding D’s attempts at eye contact.

“You don’t know that for sure,” D protested.

Dimples cut into Sam’s face with her bitter smile.  “I really do.”

What the _fuck_.  “Why the hell haven’t you told me, then?  What is it?  Is it bad?”  God, was Sam dying or some shit?  Why the hell else wouldn’t she have at least mentioned it?  D’s voice broke on Sam’s name and her sister finally looked at her.

The hazel gaze skittered over D and Sam ducked her head, shamefaced.  “It’s not bad like you’re thinking.  You don’t need to worry about me, D, honest.  I can handle it.”

D scowled but loosened her talon grip on her favorite Led Zep shirt.  “Obviously you can’t or else your knot would have popped years ago like it should’ve.  Seriously, Sam, if there’s any chance a doctor could help, we gotta try.  You…you’re the only one in this family who has a shot at passing on the Winchester name, y’know.  And it’s super hard for alphas to get knocked up—”

“— _I_ don’t need a sex ed lesson, D—”

“—so you’re going to have to be the one doing the knocking up, which means you gotta pop.”  She looked down at her shirt, wrung it a little.  “I’m gonna have to live vicariously through you, so I’m counting on you to give me a niece, got it?”  Crap, she hadn’t meant to let her voice waver.

Sam was giving her that fierce ‘fuck Dad and everything he stands for’ look now.  “D, you don’t have to be a hunter any more than I do.  And this isn’t the old days, no matter what rural schools are preaching.  You don’t need Dad’s approval to start a family of your own.”

“You forgetting that I’ve been on suppressants for a _decade_ now?  And unless laws change, if I ever wanted to adopt I’d have to have an alpha mate, and I’m not exactly curvy and soft and sweet.  Who’s gonna want some probably-infertile sad excuse of an omega?  For a mate, I mean.  Ain’t gonna happen, Sammy-Wan Kenobi; your future kids are my only hope.”

D tried to smile up at her sister but judging by the liquid puppy eyes, she didn’t pull it off.

Sam’s hand slid across the table and D’s attention narrowed down to the fingers that were flared out as if to touch.  D froze, terrified of scaring Sam off from the closest she’d been to touching D since _months_ before Sam’s glinting February 15 th Sale nail polish had been bought.  Her pulse was pounding in her ears and an adrenaline spike was shuddering through her, shortening her breath.  She risked a glance up to Sam’s face and whatever was in her expression (desperation, probably, because she was _fucking pathetic_ ) triggered Sam into snatching her hand back with wide, panicked eyes and taking a full step away from the folding table.  Something lodged in D’s throat.

“I—fuck.  Licorice, right?  I still have to go get that,” Sam muttered and then sped walked the fuck out of the laundry mat.  D flinched at the cheery jingle of the door bell.

If this were a year ago, she would have just yelled after her sister about leaving the omega to deal with the laundry.  As it was, she buried her hot face in her still-unfolded shirt and curled inward until her forehead hit the table.  She was absolutely not going to cry in the laundry mat of a one pony town.

She wished she could just kick Sam’s ass like she used to when the brat was being particularly bratty, but now Sam might legitimately injure herself in her attempts to avoid contact with D.  As if D were contagious or disgusting or something.  What _the fuck_ had D done that was so heinous that Sam felt the need to recoil from her?  She was too much of a goddamn coward to outright ask, though, because what if ignorance is bliss?  She’d had literal nightmares in which she learned that all this was because Sam had figured out how D felt and when D finally touched her, Sam had screamed awful (accurate) things and beat the living shit out of her.  And D hadn’t raised a hand to stop her because, honestly, she deserved it, dream or not.

D took in deep breaths until there was no shuddering or wetness.  She stood up straight again and got to work with the folding.  If she caught up with Sam before she started the walk back from the store, D was going to demand funds for alcohol, pie, and/or cigarettes as recompense for the day’s second infraction of emo teenage angst crap.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t catch up with Sam in time.  In fact, Sam had almost made it all the way back to the laundry mat because _of course she had_ , what with her stress relief jogging bullshit.  So D was barely out of the laundry mat parking lot when she pulled over alongside Sam.

Sam tossed a few tied-up grocery bags onto the duffels and climbed in.  D rolled her window down and very carefully didn’t look at Sam’s rack heaving and straining buttons.  She just didn’t have the energy right now to deal with that, nor the strong Sam-scent from sweat and the way her knees were splayed wide.  The sensory input from the waves of heat coming off her sister was more than enough.

The drive back to the motel was silent except for the background noise of the engine and Sam catching her breath.  Them hauling bags in was silent except for the whisper of fabric, the rustling of thin plastic, and the creaking of door hinges.  The practiced motions of laundry redistribution were accented by the buzz of zippers.  The A/C clicked on and did absolutely nothing to ease the midday heat.

D’s skin prickled with impending sweat so she snagged a tank top and changed back out of her sweater—in the bathroom, so as to not scandalize her sister, of course.  When she came back out, Sam was already settled on the couch and reading again.  D balled the sweater up and put it in her duffel before setting the restocked bag on the floor.  She walked over to the little table where the grocery bags were camped out on top of the newspapers and searched their contents.  Twice.

“What the crap, Sam?”  She held up the bag of jellybeans, which was the closest thing to licorice among the rest of the not-licorice-or-cigarettes-or-pie crap.  Twizzlers were an abomination and therefore did not count.

Sam didn’t look up.  “Sorry.  I even asked the clerk, but that was the best I could do.  I got us lunch and dinner, though.”

D glared at the cup ramen, beef jerky, protein bars, Doritos, and apple.  She glared at Sam, who didn’t notice.

“I’m going for a walk,” D decided out loud.  Honestly, she felt like it was that or a fight at this point.

That got Sam’s attention.  The curves of wispy hair at her temples bounced from how quick she looked up at D.  A tiny glimmer of panic brightened in her eyes when her gaze settled on D’s spaghetti straps.

“By yourself?”  The “in _that_?” was implied by her tone.

Jesus, she wasn’t a child.  “I don’t need a chaperone, thanks.”

Sam obviously wanted to protest, but wisely kept it to herself.  She knew Sam had good reason to be worried, seeing as D had been attacked more than once, but it was still hard to swallow that coming from her little sister, the person _she_ was supposed to watch out for.

“Take your gun.”

D stared her down, turned slightly and pointedly lifted her top to show the gun tucked against her lower back.  Sam gave a little eye roll, but her cheeks were tinted pink.  Served her right for being a dick.

“Where’s the money?  I might get lucky and come across some actual food while I’m out.”

Sam took her money clip from her shirt pocket and tossed it over.  A year ago, D would have tried to brush fingers when Sam handed it to her.  Now she just savored the metal’s warmth from Sam’s body.

“I still don’t get why I’m stuck with budgeting,” Sam muttered.

A handful of years ago, D had (yet again) gambled away what money they’d had left in an attempt to get more, and ended up getting arrested for stealing.  After that, Dad put Sam in charge of money if he was gone.  She was pretty sure Sam assumed it was Dad being designationist or something, but they had a cover story that she wasn’t supposed to blow, so she’d never clarified.

“You’re the mathlete here.”

“That’s, like, not even related.”

“Whatever, ’s all numbers.”  D dropped the forty-bucks-lighter money clip on the table and tucked the bills next to the room key in her pocket.  “May I go now, alpha?” D bit out and ignored how her pulse quickened and stomach fluttered from calling Sam that, even sarcastically.

Sam seemed as irked as intended—the weird, dark look was back and her fingers were curled tight around her book.

“Just be back before dusk, _omega_.”

There was a tense moment of Sam practically glaring at her and D staring, stunned, and mentally chastising her knees that this was not the time to go wobbly.  On that note, her heart and lungs and scent glands needed to calm the fuck down too.  She was pretty sure her cheeks were even brighter than Sam’s when she finally gathered herself and broke eye contact.  Play it cool, normal sisters don’t get worked up over stuff like this.

“Whatever, call me if there’s an emergency.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, D’s ass hit the jamb and she doubled over with a hand flat on her abdomen.  What the fuck was wrong with her today?  She goddamn well knew better than to do anything that would end up with Sam accidentally feeding into D’s fucked-upness, like calling her omega, like they were mates or some shit.  Just at the memory—safe from observation, red face shielded by loose hair—her breath and thighs trembled.  Her clit legit throbbed and that shit hurts when you don’t have any lubricant easing the friction between folds.  _Jesus_ , she needed to get laid.

That wasn’t going to happen in this town, though, if Cassie had been anything to go by.  So she needed to stop thinking about it and pretend like everything was normal and like she wasn’t in love and lust with her baby sister.  Easy-peasy, just another day.  Absolutely nothing to fill her little omega mind with besides scenery and weather.

That just left the question of which direction to go.  She sighed and squinted out at the beige terrain between the parking lot and the main street.  One would think the management would plant some brush or cacti or something, instead of just letting it be a bunch of flat dirt.

West.  She’d go west.

She gave Baby a pat on her way past and got seared for her effort.  Fuck, why couldn’t it be cool and rainy during the day as well as the night?  Fuckin’ weird desert weather.  At least it wasn’t humid, though.

D stuck to the sad excuse of a sidewalk for a few miles of nothing much.  There were occasional tufts of brush, a lot of rocks, and pale sand deposits lining the sidewalk.  She saw two large lizards and an honest-to-god tumbleweed.  Lots of neglected buildings. No cars or people, though, creepily enough.

Finally, she reached what looked like a town square with businesses that seemed to still be running, including a dollar store.

She almost groaned in relief when a blast of cold air welcomed her into the store, but the clerk didn’t need any encouragement to keep gawking at her.  She waved awkwardly and marched to the back, as out of sight as she could manage with the curved mirrors in the corners.  She hit up the candy aisle first and was frustrated to find nothing decent except a variety of chocolate bars.  The actual food aisle was just as disappointing.  The toy aisle, however, had a Care Bears messenger bag for $3, which was more than worth it to annoy Sam.  She also grabbed a couple books of word puzzles, a pack of gel pens, a small electric fan, and dug a few movies out of a barrel of VHSs.  She was weirdly pleased that it all fit in the messenger bag.  The clerk kept his gawking steady all through checkout.  Maybe girls his age didn’t dress like D around here.  Maybe this town was even smaller than she’d assumed.  He did tell her about a pizza place on the way back to the motel if she went a few blocks north, though, so she wasn’t too annoyed by his staring at her ass as she left.

The promise of pizza put her in a better mood, so of course her brain started acting up again.

All of D’s drama aside, there was something wrong with Sam.  Like, they’d known something was up when Sam still hadn’t fully presented by her 17th birthday, but it’d been sort of a nebulous not-exactly-broke-and-don’t-know-how-to-fix-it kind of thing. Unlike D, Sam was physically exactly what one would stereotypically expect of her gender-designation: tall, broad, soft voice and skin and hair, medium bust size, slim hips.  She could probably carry D bridal-style for miles like it was nothing, something D thought about way too much.

But assuming Sam was otherwise totally normal physically speaking, what the fuck was keeping her from popping?  Their life wasn’t so messed up that it would have left her psychologically incapable of reaching that last stage of physical maturity, which was the only not-bodily-function reason D knew of that could be a cause.  Sam had started becoming more and more sullen since a couple years after she hit beta puberty, but pretty much all teenagers got a little pouty at that age.

The point was: Sam knew what it was.  There was a decent chance Dad knew what it was.  And neither of them were letting D in on the big secret.  How the fuck was she supposed to fulfill her big sister duties and watch out for Sammy if important things were kept from her?  Like why she avoided physical contact with D like it would electrocute her.  Because unless she had developed some Rogue-esque superpowers that would only work on siblings or omegas, there wasn’t a damn excuse that D could come up with that was acceptable.  Literal seasons had passed and D just wanted to know _why_.

Okay, that was a total lie.  Really, she just wanted Sam to touch her.  She wouldn’t mind never finding out as long as the shittiness just _stopped_.  Her skin ached sometimes, inside and out, bruised from the lack of Sam-touch.  There was a gauge in the back of D’s mind now that tracked how far apart they were, a calculator for how quick D would need to move to tackle Sam before she could escape.

Back when Sam was entering the height of her beta puberty—when her curves were settling, when her leg bones were creaking to a stop, when her features were sharpening—D would be blindsided by the need to kiss her.  Sometimes once in a week, sometimes five times in as many minutes.  It had been a breathless ache, a swell of urgency, the feeling that every second not spent kissing Sam was a second wasted.

D missed it being that simple.

Now there was confusion, shame, fear, self-loathing, and deep, echoing loss every time D noticed the lack of a touch where there would have been before.  Back then the only constant was the quiet pining—now all of this, ceaselessly.  She still kept slipping up, going back to her default of ever-reaching towards her sister, but those moments just made the pain that much more like fish hooks when she caught herself or when Sam swerved out of reach.

It felt like something inside her withered more every day, with every inch of too-much-space and every nervous twitch of too-close.  Sometimes she felt like a plant: she’d grow better if Sam would just talk to her, and it may just be because of extra carbon dioxide being breathed onto her, but it would be something, damn it!  Anything!

D was a marsh marigold in a desert.  Including contact irritant and toxicity, apparently…

She groaned.  Ending up comparing herself to flowers and shit was exactly why she needed to not think about this crap.  She was a good hunter and excellent monster bait, but not so great at feely crap.

She was going to get pizza, stuff her face, watch some movies, and then the shitty day would be over and hopefully they’d head out in the morning.  She’d take the stitches out before, just in case they would feel weird again after driving.  The only trick now was to make sure the rest of the day was completely uneventful.

“Woah!  When’d you blow into town, sweetheart?”

The dry breeze carried a thick scent that blended well with the desert terrain.  Alpha.  Goddamn motherfucking son of a bitch.  D paused on the sidewalk—did she _seriously_ manage to run into one of the, like, two alphas in this entire town?

“This fucking day just keeps getting worse and worse,” she muttered and rubbed her eyes.

“What was that?”

D startled and whirled, hand flying to her gun.  The alpha had advanced while she’d been too busy self-pitying to notice.  He was only a handful of feet away now, and he was pungent with pheromones in a way that did not bode well.  Where the crap had he even come from?  She was a good couple blocks from the town square and nothing around them looked open.

“Wasn’t talking to you, pal.”

The split second of shock at her tone was pretty satisfying.  The guy recovered quickly, though, and pretended to glance around, a smirk forming on thin lips.  Honest-to-God fangs peeked out and D felt a tiny chill of fear despite herself.  She wasn’t sure she’d ever faced off with a purebred before.

“It’s just you and me here, darlin’, and you know what they say about talkin’ to yourself.”

“If you want something done right, do it yourself?”  She offered her best cheeky smile and a shrug.

Fuzzy pale blonde eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion, then deeper in anger.  An alpha with a short fuse, shocker.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”  Before D could answer, the breeze shifted and the guy’s eyes widened.  Fuck.  “You’re—”

“—done with this conversation.”

_Of course_ he had to lunge and grab her wrist before she could leave because this day was going for a record.

“Get your hand off me if you wanna keep it.”

It was almost funny how much he puffed up, as if it wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world to escape his weak-ass grip.  “Listen here, you omega bitch—”

The dull crack under D’s hands was punctuated by a scream laced with alpha vocalizations.  Huh.  She’d only meant to sprain the wrist, not break it.  Oh, well, served him right anyway.

“Consider this me going easy on you.”  She dropped his wrist and started backing away, watching him.  When she was several yards away and he seemed focused on testing how hurt he was, she turned.  Too soon.

“ **Get back over here**.”

_Fuck_.  D smoothed out her answering snarl before she turned back around and walked towards him.  The command hadn’t been specific, so thankfully the compulsion eased before she was within arm’s reach.

Unfortunately, he decided to correct that himself.  He was sneering as he stalked forward, and his eyes were glowing that eerie red she’d only seen a handful of times in her life.  Her pulse fluttered in the hollow of her throat and her breathing started to go shallow.  Fuck Sam for possibly being right about her not going out alone.

“Looks like someone needs to put you in your place.  **Get on your kn** —”

Sheer panic flooded D and training kicked in.  Her hand shot up and jammed into what had been a straight, unbroken nose.  The alpha screamed again and now there was blood everywhere and D got a few steps away before he lunged again, fingers catching the strap of the messenger bag.

“You fuckin’ _bitch_! I’ll kill—”

The crystal-clear thought of ‘at least I’m not the only one having a shitty day’ ran through D’s head when the alpha registered that there was now a gun aimed at his face.  His fingers loosened with shock and D got a few more steps away before he growled.  D was pretty proud of herself for keeping her hand steady.

“ **Give me the gun.** ”

D breathed in deep past the overwhelming nausea that always accompanied resisting an alpha command, just like Uncle Bobby taught her when she was little.  Her exhale was shuddery.  She was doing a lot of deep breathing today.  “I don’t think so.”

The alpha gaped.  “What the fuck?”

“I think you’ve been watching a little too much porn if you think going alpha makes me an automaton or some shit.  I also think your parents have some apologizing to do to literally every omega you’ve ever spoken to.  And I think you should probably go see a doctor.  I won’t tell anyone about how you got your ass handed to you by an omega girl if you don’t.”

The guy snarled and tensed to lunge again, and D snapped to a widened stance with both hands steadying her pistol, aimed square at his chest.  He stopped.

“So let’s pretend none of this happened, yeah?  Except you treat women and omegas with some goddamn respect from now on.”  She started backing away, and the nausea crested again when he started growling at her.  Fucking alphas.  If she ended up puking, she was damn well going to aim it at him.  “I’m leaving now.  If you so much as think about following me or coming to find me later, just know that the rest of my pack is alpha and we’re all _real_ good at getting rid of bodies.”

The glowing red faded back into icy blue as she got further away.  He didn’t look any less pissed, though.  When she was about a block away, he started turning to walk back to the town square.  He paused and turned back to her to shout, “You’re a fuckin’ freak!”

D forced a grin.  Classy.  “It’s been said!  Have a nice day!”

There was blood in his teeth when he sneered again and her omega felt another shudder of fear, but overwhelmingly she felt victorious.  Wait ’til she told Dad and Sam she kicked a purebred’s ass.  Shit.  Actually, she really shouldn’t say a damn thing because then they may never let her out of their sight again.

Well, hell.  She was a total badass and not a single other person was going to get to appreciate that.

The alpha turned a corner onto the square and D paused for a moment to make sure he didn’t turn right back around.  She lowered her gun and turned but kept her ears perked and her eyes peeled.

It was a blissfully uneventful mile and a half to the pizza place.

The building looked a little too much like the kind of dilapidated houses ghosts favored for D’s taste.  This is where she’d usually tease Sam about unsanitary food conditions as if she weren’t skeeved out herself.  Hmm.  She’d set her heart on pizza.  Although, with this day, it would be just her luck to get a roach topping.

She’d use the restroom, judge from its cleanliness whether getting a pizza was worth the risk or not.  She tucked her gun away again.

There was a bell on this door, too, just like the laundry mat.  Jesus, that was just hours ago.  This day felt like a week.

D loitered at the counter for a good minute before a teenage boy moseyed up to the register.  She was starting to get a horror movie vibe with all the young, blond white guys she was seeing around town.  This one looked a little high, though.

“Can I help you?”

She toyed with the idea of trying to buy weed from him, but actual food took priority and she wasn’t made of money.

“Um, actually, do you have a restroom I can use?”

The guy—Derek, according to the name tag—was too busy staring at her midsection to answer.  Or rather the blood on her hand and forearm.

What to say, what to say?  “Oh, that.  It’s, y’know, that time of the month.”  She forced a grin and prayed that he’d be too awkward to think about it.  Then an actual laugh escaped her at the absolutely horrified look the guy gave her.  Nice.

“The bathroom’s only for empl—,” he glanced down at her hand again.  “It’s back here.”

D followed him to the back of the kitchen, trying to be discrete as she eyed the place for evidence of pests.  He opened the door when they reached the tiny restroom and she smiled as graciously as she could.  He didn’t look any less wigged out.  She should write a letter to the governor or something about better health classes for these poor kids.

The bathroom was surprisingly clean except for some mold in one corner.  And this was an employee restroom, which meant there wasn’t as much of a push for it to be presentable.  She scrubbed the blood off her skin, wiped her gun down, and then just stood there for a minute.  Some asshole son of a bitch had just tried to rape her.  It was far from the first time something like that had happened, but she’d never been so completely without backup before.  A hysterical giggle bubbled up out of her.  Thank _fuck_ for Uncle Bobby.  She may need to send him a card—did they make cards along the lines of ‘you kept me from being raped and/or killed today’?  Probably not.  Maybe just a ‘thank you’ card, then.

She tucked her gun away again and shook her shoulders and head to release some tension before exiting the bathroom.  She was even more vigilant on her way back to the front, and still no sign of a pest problem.  Awesome. 

Derek was leaning on the counter and staring at his nails when she got back.  He met her eyes but didn’t even attempt some customer service.

“You do deliveries?”

“Marco does ’em.”

Wow.  Helpful.  “Marco here?”

Derek yelled and holy crap the kid had a pair of lungs.  A few beats later yet another young blond white guy jogged in from the side, where there was presumably a break room.  If it wouldn’t have been breathtakingly hypocritical even for her, she’d be thinking up some inbreeding jokes right about now because, seriously, how was everyone except Cassie blonde?

Marco was not very inconspicuous in checking D out.  She’d about had enough of men today.

“How can we help you?”  Well, the plural in that lecherous tone was interesting, at least.  She wondered if Derek had picked up on the implication.

“You delivered to the motel this afternoon to a girl around yea tall, hair about the same color as mine but in a braid?”

“She about as cute as you, too?”

D kept her face placidly disinterested until Derek started snickering and Marco shoved him.  Marco suddenly had a hard time meeting her eyes.

“Nah, I haven’t been over there today yet.”

“Okay.”  D dug in her pocket, pulled out her change from the dollar store, and tossed it onto the counter.  “How much pizza will that get me?”

 

* * *

 

Marco’s busted up Toyota truck (Forgive him, Father, he knows not what he does, or whatever) rumbled off back west.  She’d say into the sunset, but Sam would be pleased that she was back well before dusk.  It’d probably be another couple hours before Dad got back from wrangling supplies.

It took barely any juggling to get into the motel room.  The first thing she noticed was the cool draft sharp where the backs of her thighs were tender from hot leather seats.

“You fixed the A/C?”

“Not really.  It’s barely better than outsi—is that pizza?”

D grinned and strode over to the microwave and set the two large pizzas on top.  “Sure is.  It’s not cheeseburgers, but it’s also not plastic noodles,” she said pointedly.

“I guess.  How far did you walk with those?”

“Fuck that.  I convinced the delivery boy to give me a ride so I wouldn’t die of heat stroke.  Those babies are piping.”

She finally looked over to where Sam was seated with her book.  The brat was smirking while pretending to read.  “You rode alone with a pizza delivery boy?  I’m surprised the pizza’s still hot.”

“What is that, a reverse gay joke?  No, I am more than done with the males in this town, even aside from the whole lesbian thing.  It’s like _Village of the Damned_ out there.”

Sam looked up with that worried little wrinkle between her eyebrows.  “Did something happen?  Wait, is that—” She sprung up and in two quick steps was a few feet from D and staring down at D’s shorts. “Is that blood?”

She looked down too and, sure enough, there was a patch of carmine smeared pretty.  Ugh, they _just_ did laundry.

“D, why is there blood on you?”

“Nothing to worry your pretty head about, Sam.  Wait—” No, they were good: the Care Bears bag was blood-free.  “I come bearing other gifts.”  She grinned at her pun; she hadn’t even planned that.

“Don’t change the subject, D, what the hell happened!”

“I said don’t worry about it!”  D flapped her hand at Sam in dismissal, and suddenly Sam was back over by the couch, apparently thinking that D had been reaching for her.  D just sighed.  She was tired.

She walked over to the bed and dropped the messenger bag on the messy sheets.  She could see Sam shift awkwardly, hesitant, in her periphery.  She dug in her duffel and grabbed her sweater and cotton shorts.

“Don’t let it go cold,” she reminded before she shut herself in the bathroom.

D forced her mind blank, focusing on the white noise of tepid water (too hot outside for anything colder) filling the basin.  She was halfway through rubbing the stain out of her shorts when it occurred to her that this was the first time in forever that she and Sam had been alone together for a decent chunk of time, outside of the Impala.  Sam was usually in school or holed up in a library or book store to study or for no reason besides being a huge nerd.  But now she was a recent high school graduate and going through her reading list in the motel room, apparently.  D was almost always with Dad, although sometimes it seemed like it was the other way around.

Now that she really thought about it, though, Dad was the only alpha she’d spent any real time alone with in the past few years.  Almost all the other hunters she’d ever spent time with were betas, which was kinda weird, considering how many alphas there were in the hunting community.  Pastor Jim was an exception, but it made sense since he was, y’know, a _pastor_.  She’d learned how to resist alpha commands from Pastor Jim giving them and Uncle Bobby guiding her through the violent nausea, splitting headaches, and wooziness of resisting until she was almost as good at it as he was.  She missed Uncle Bobby.  Among other things, it’d been nice to be around a fellow omega.

She wrung her shorts out, draped them over the shower rod, and refilled the sink with cleaner, hotter water.  She scrubbed her hands and fingernails before stripping and wiping down where sweat had sprung from heat and panic.  It was arguably too warm to wear her sweater, but she was having a shitty day and she’d bought a fan.

Sam was waiting for her on the bed, sitting by the messenger bag and looking contrite.  D ignored her in favor of her duffel.  After several seconds of fruitless digging around, she sighed and turned to Sam.

“Do you have a hair thingy?”

Her sister looked a little startled and then indecisive, like she was contemplating lying to D’s face about a goddamn hair accessory.  What the fuck was with this kid?  They both knew she kept an entire pocket of her backpack dedicated to dozens of hair ties in every color imaginable.  Sam saw her anticipatory anger and shrunk further down, right into pathetic puppy eyes.  D wasn’t in the mood.

“I just wanted to know you were okay.”

“I’m fucking dandy, Sam.  Do you have a hair thingy.”

Sam slinked off the bed and returned with a hair tie that matched D’s sweater.  D snapped it around her wrist and turned the messenger bag over.  She tossed the bag itself to Sam, who held it away with a frown.  D grabbed the fan and plugged it in and angled it to blow across the couch.  She didn’t turn it on yet because while cold pizza was great hangover food, slightly chilly pizza was plain disgusting.

She set her dad’s portion aside and brought the rest over to the coffee table in front of the couch.  By that time, Sam had brought the movies over and was back with her book.  D picked the least cheesy-looking movie (who knew, maybe Sam would actually watch it) and set it up to play.

The entire first movie was watched in silence: both of them eating, Sam reading, and D trying really hard to relax, forget the shitty day, and ignore that there was exactly one couch cushion worth of space between them in a warm room and Sam had almost _touched_ her earlier—

That last bit wasn’t going so well.

When the first movie ended, D grabbed the jellybeans with a half-hearted sneer.  She’d be lucky to find, like, two black jellybeans.  Other people had no taste.  Maybe she’d entertain herself by throwing the rest at Sam.  She wondered if she could piss her off enough to get hit.  God, how fucked was that?  She was so desperate that she’d gladly accept violence.  Really, though, Sam’d sooner storm off to who-knows-where.   Although, it was late enough on a Sunday that the library might already be closed, if it’d been open at all.  This seemed like that kind of town.

“So why weren’t you at a library or bookstore or something all day like normal?”  D tossed the bag of beans down on the coffee table and did a double take when she noticed Sam’s expression.  She looked as if she’d been caught out.

“Did you talk to Dad?”

“What?  No.  Why?”

Sam looked away and tugged on her braid.  “I told him I’d go to the library when I got him to let you sleep in for once.”  Some of the tension that D had been carrying in her jaw and shoulders eased.  The kid wasn’t a total brat.  There was a reason D didn’t _just_ have the hots for her.  “But when I asked the guy at the office, he said the closest library or bookstores were ‘in town’.”

D switched out VHSs.  “Is it even legal to not have a library?”

Her sister shrugged.

“So you got stuck with me all day, huh?”  D aimed the fan to where she had been sitting, turned it on in the highest setting, and plopped back on her third of the couch.

Sam looked indignant.  “Not ‘stuck,’ D.  I—”

She glanced over to see that Sam had cut herself off to make a weird face, like anger combined with deer in the headlights.  D snapped Sam’s hair tie in place around the bun she’d pulled her hair up into and turned her face slightly to scope Sam out without staring full-on.  Her fingers seemed to spasm slightly before they clenched back around the oh-so-captivating book.  She breathed in deep—D stared a little at her chest this time, sue her—but then…held it…?  What?

D shifted so that she was sitting with her legs criss-crossed on the cushion, her back to the couch arm, and focused in on her weirdo sister.  The VHS was going through previews anyway.  “You okay over there, Sam?”

Sam’s eyelashes fluttered and she inhaled sharply.  “What?  Yeah, of course, don’t worry about it.  Can we switch spots?” came out all in a rush.

“Ooookaaay, what is it I’m not worrying about?”

“That sounds like you’re worrying about it,” Sam pointed out.

“Well, apparently there’s something worth being worried over, so…”

“Remember how, like, two hours ago you told me not to worry about there being _blood_ on you?”  Sam’s eyebrows were hiding up in her bangs again and D raised her hands in a defensive gesture.

“Sure.  Fine.  Whatever.”  Not like Sam already kept things from her or anything.

They sat there for a few tense seconds, not quite glaring at each other.

 Sam snapped her book closed and hiked her shoulders up in an annoyed sigh.  “Are you going to come over here or what?”

An unbidden fantasy of straddling her sister’s lap stole over the forefront of D’s mind—worn denim against sensitive skin exposed from her shorts riding up as her thighs spread wide over Sam, warmth and their breath mingling between them, so close, Sam reaching out to brace D, holding her waist or, _fuck_ , her bare thighs—and sonova _bitch_ there went her goddamn pheromones again.  D could feel her face flushing.  She ducked her head, avoided looking at Sam because each time was more fucking humiliating than the last, even if Sam never noticed.  She snatched the jellybeans off the coffee table.

“No way.  I just got comfortable.”  If they moved and D became downwind from Sam-scent, god only knew what that would do to D.  Sure, it’d be like a dream come fucking true, but at what cost?

She groaned in frustration when the jellybean package refused to give way.  She brought it up to her mouth to use her teeth like it was a stubborn ketchup packet and _of_ fucking _course_ it ripped open too fast and sent jellybeans flying.

“Sonuvamotherfucker.”  D tossed the mostly-empty bag back onto the table.  Fuck the beans on the floor, she hadn’t lied when she said she was comfortable.  She brushed aside the ones that were lined up against her shins before dropping one leg off the edge of the cushion and lifting her other knee up along the back of the couch, stitches skimming the coarse fabric, to get at the candies that had fallen into her lap and the cushion crease.

A new wave of heat lapped across her cheeks when the movement released more pheromones from between her legs.  Why, of all days, did her scent glands decide today was a good time to do an impression of a 16-year-old alpha’s refractory period?  What the fuck was wrong with her today?

She was startled out of feeling around in front of her crotch for beans by the thwack of Sam’s book hitting the floor.

What the fuck was wrong with _Sam_ toda—

Sam was staring at D’s crotch, eyes blown and breathing weirdly ragged.  D definitely wasn’t imagining that.  She also wasn’t technically wearing panties, but she was 99% certain that her shorts, even ridden up and threadbare, were keeping Sam from being flashed, so what the fuck was she staring at?

“Sam?”

Instead of snapping out of it, Sam lurched up into half-kneeling, half-sitting against the arm of the couch, turning towards D’s end of the couch, gaze unwavering.  D started drawing her thighs back together but Sam honest-to-god fucking growled.  It wasn’t full alpha, but it was enough that D’s O automatically snapped her legs back wide.  She felt her flush spread down her neck, mortification heightened by another surge of pheromones announcing her arousal.  The room fucking reeked of her, how the hell was she going to explain that to Dad?

Her breath caught—when had it gone all heavy?—when Sam’s gaze finally unglued from D’s nethers and met D’s eyes.  Her face was doing that intense thing again, but the sharp eyes were assessing, like she was gauging D’s reaction, which was to freeze, trapped between confusion, embarrassment, and being helplessly turned on just from Sam _growling_ at her.  D should probably say something at this point, shut this down, whatever it was, but her mind was a blank.  In fact, she was pretty sure her O understood what was going on a lot better than she did.  This all felt very instinct-y.

For the first time in her life, D actually listened to her omega.

She tilted her head to expose her throat and slid down into the couch, jellybeans clattering to the floor, until she was almost laying down, her tummy vulnerable, her right ankle hooked onto the back of the couch to keep her tremoring thighs spread wide without infringing on Sam’s cushion.  Her heart was in her throat and her breathing was as ragged as Sam’s by the time she settled, on display for her sister.

Sam’s rapt stare shifted to a clear expression of ‘stay still’ and then she turned her face towards D’s leg, like she was going to inspect her stitches, except her eyes were closed.  Even D’s O was confused for a moment, until Sam started slowly leaning down towards D’s body, the pointy tip of her nose steadily a few inches from the inside of D’s leg.  It looked like…but Sam shouldn’t be able to smell her.

When she reached mid-thigh, Sam shifted again, folding herself up onto hands and knees, making the couch dip with her weight between D’s legs.  The new position put Sam’s face directly in the line of fire from the fan and when Sam turned to glare at it, a wisp of cowlicked baby curls fluttered against the sensitive skin of D’s inner thigh like a goddamn live wire.  Her gasp would have been embarrassingly loud if it hadn’t been masked by the brief cacophony of Sam _flipping the table_.  D barely registered the clattering of the remaining jellybeans, the ssssh-thump of pizza boxes and VHSs, the loud clicking of the fan trying to oscillate into the floor—part of Sam had touched her!  A tiny, barely-there part that Sam didn’t have any sensation in, but it was still more than D had gotten in for-fucking-ever.  Adrenaline was flowing liberally through her now, and her entire body was taut with the hope of it somehow happening again.

Sam turned back to D’s leg and lowered herself onto her elbows, tucking herself well into D’s intimate space.  D held her breath as her sister moved further up and up and holy mother of Christ Sam was squarely right in front of her crotch, hot exhales billowing the thin cloth over her vulva.  D whined and clenched her fingers on the cushion edge.  She wanted to squirm, find some kind of release from the anticipation and tension building up in her, but her O had taken Sam’s silent instruction to not move like it was an alpha command.  Sam turned her head slightly, angling to the crease in D’s hip where one of her scent glands was, and a baby curl brushed fuller against her thigh, six inches from her aching clit, and every nerve in her body lit up.  D couldn’t have kept back the moan and rush of pheromones if she’d tried.  Sam growled again, the vibrations adding more phantom stimulation, and D was so sensitive and turned on that she could fucking _cry_ and oh god Sam knew, Sam could smell her somehow—

The world tilted a little as Sam shifted again, suddenly face-to-face, braced with a hand on the couch back and armrest behind D’s head.  D whimpered a little at the loss of the tiny, bright point of contact.  How the hell was Sam practically on her and not touching her?  It wasn’t fucking fair.  Sam ducked her head and made eye contact.  Her eyes were blown wide and hot but assessing again as she looked D over.  Everything else had gone out the window to make even more room for painful sexual frustration and all D could do was claw into the cushions for dear life until she was allowed to move again.

The hand from the back of the couch came down to hover over D’s hip and she couldn’t breathe.  With just the very tips of her fingers, Sam plucked up the bottom hem of D’s sweater and started dragging it up, up, still not touching her, but D’s abs shuddered at the torturous tickling over her tummy and nipples and then she was exposed.  The humiliation that had been overwhelmed by arousal came back with a vengeance.  Having started suppressants so early meant that her tits were tiny, and she hadn’t even been wearing a bralet to cover them.  All her shame shorted out when Sam started purring.  Like pheromone detection, purring was supposed to be basically impossible for unpopped alphas.  Unless—

Sam tugged the hem pointedly and D’s O let her release the cushion to hold the sweater in place against her collarbone, still not touching Sam.  Her thoughts and breath vacated at the sound of a zipper.  Her attention snapped down between them, where Sam was reaching inside her own jeans.  The first tendrils of unease curled in her stomach.  How far was Sam thinking about taking this?  Because if Sam thought for a second that she was going to stick it in without so much as touching D, she had another fucking thing coming.

The wariness dissipated as Sam stayed in place, hovering just over D.  Then Sam’s shoulder dipped and suddenly the smell of her arousal mixed in with D’s and warmth surged through her and things got a little fuzzy, narrowed down to Sam and Sam-scent and _them_ -scent.  Something deep in her shifted and she groaned.  She hadn’t felt her insides try to clench on an absent partner since her first heat, and back then she’d been dripping.  Now things were trying to unfurl and flex with only a few valiant beads of slick to ease the way, and fuck she was so turned on that it literally hurt.

“Sam,” she whined and her O let her arch her back, enticing.  Sam flinched and the purring cut short.

“D, I can’t—I’m sorry, just.  _Fuck_ —”

Sam made a small noise of distress and dipped her head, breathing deep and exhaling hot and damp against D’s throat.  D’s eyelids fluttered as she tucked her chin against her hand on her collarbone to give Sam more room.  It was the closest that Sam had been to her in what felt like years and her scent was so strong this close, D could practically taste that she was on the edge of popping her knot, and that probably wasn’t normal but what about this situation was, honestly.

“D, please.”  Sam sounded every bit as desperate as D had felt for the past eternity.  The plea wasn’t specific, and she had no fucking clue what Sam was asking for, but her O took it as a cue to finally release her.

D brushed a hand down over her hard nipples and her trembling tummy and into her shorts, like Sam.  She took in a deep inhale of their scent, watched the rhythm of Sam’s shoulder as she jacked herself, and carefully spread her own folds, easing a little of the awful ache.  Sam faltered slightly with a loud moan when the tiny heady hint of D’s slick joined their scent, and D gasped when feathery soft hair bounced across her cheek, sending another zing through D’s nervous system.  Sam’s heat and scent were enveloping D, but she _still_ wasn’t touching her and D was goddamn frantic, every atom of her was straining with need for her alpha.  Her O wanted to be pinned down and fucked senseless, and D wanted to be fucking _touched_ , and what the fuck was wrong with Sammy, torturing her like this?

She was a moment away from outright begging between labored breaths when Sam jerked and keened and warm wetness hit D’s stomach.  She drank in the sound and smell and feel of Sam’s orgasm and it took the edge off the frenzied need in her, but something was still off.  Yes, her alpha’s come mixing with her own scent was good, but said come was supposed to be _in_ her, damn it.

D’s fingers were trailing across her stomach on a mission to correct the situation when the motel door opened.  Sam snarled and her knee barely missed D’s face in her dart to the bathroom, leaving D splayed mostly naked and covered in cooling spunk for their dad to find with ragged breathing, Sonny Chiba, and a struggling fan as the soundtrack for the disaster.

There was a loud, hearty swear before her dad closed and locked the door behind himself.  D stared blankly as he approached her with that sad, resigned look.

He sighed heavily.  “Your sister in the bathroom?”

D nodded and the set of his jaw clicked her back into reality.  She lurched up and grabbed his sleeve.  “Dad!  You’re not gonna—”

He pulled her tight into a hug as best he could with the couch back between them.

“I love you, and I’m going to fix this, okay?”  Anxiety swelled in D’s chest and croaked in her throat.  Oh god, did he think Sammy was something bad?  Dad squeezed her and kissed her hair.  “I need you to stay here and try to sleep, D.  All night if you can.”

“What?  Dad, no—”

“ **Sleep** , Deanna.”

A stab of hurt and panic made it through her sudden drowsiness.  Dad had never used his alpha voice on her outside of life-threatening situations.  As she slid limply back down, she thought that at least her sweater had fallen down a little so she wasn’t so exposed, and that her pack leader better not hurt her alpha, and then she was out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fill for touch starvation on my spnabobingo card.
> 
> Concrit is welcome. Kudos and comments make my day!!~~~ Come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://samdeanddlyumptious.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [shantiballecter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shantiballecter/pseuds/shantiballecter)
> 
> Additional tags: sexual dysfunction, explicit consensual sex, intersex character

Ramble on  
And now's the time, the time is now  
To sing my song  
I'm goin' 'round the world, I got to find my girl  
On my way  
I've been this way ten years to the day  
Ramble on  
Gotta find the queen of all my dreams

—"Ramble On" Led Zeppelin

 

Awareness crept in slowly for D.  The sheets were scratchy against her legs, but she couldn’t remember going to bed.  The room smelled strongly of angry alphas, but she couldn’t remember intercepting a fight.  She was warm, hungry, and would need to pee soon.  Sam was sitting by her hip, looking tense with her hair falling around hitched shoulders and shielding her face.  D caught herself before her hand did more than twitch towards her sister.  Sam still noticed the movement and angled towards D, but her eyes stayed fixed on her hands in her lap. 

“Hey.”

“Sammy.  You ’kay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, D.  Dad’s—” Sam drew in a bracing breath.  “Dad’s gone.”

And that was about as effective as ice water to the face.  Yesterday.  Fuck.

“Whaddya mean, ‘gone’?”  Oh—Oh, god.  She hadn’t even considered that Sam might hurt Dad.

“He left about three hours ago for a hunt.”  Oh thank god.  “He’s not planning on coming back.”

Her breath caught.  “Was he that mad?”

“No, not mad.  Not even surprised.  That bastard knew already—knew even before I did, and he still let me go through all this, let _us_ go through all this.  I can’t believe that asshole,” Sam said in a tight, faraway tone, venting to herself.

“What are you talking about?”

Sam fidgeted and her gaze jumped around the room.  Her mouth opened and closed a couple times before she sighed, stood up, and pointed to an envelope on the night stand.  “I don’t….  He said that was for you.  Maybe it’ll explain.  I’m going to get us coffee.  I can’t think in here.”

She watched Sam hesitate for a moment before leaving the room.  She cringed when her sweater caught on her stomach like a crusty gauze pad as she sat up. Oh, that—that was super gross.  It could wait, though.  First D needed to know what the fuck Sam was not-talking about.

The envelope was surprisingly heavy.  Inside was a single page covered in her father’s handwriting and his wedding band.  She spent a solid few seconds just staring at the ring.  Then she skimmed the letter.  Then went back and read slower, heart pounding, concentrating to get every word right.  Her brain skipping around was normal, but things didn’t usually blur.

_Deanna,_

_First, I want to apologize for using my alpha on you.  I know it wasn’t fair, but Sam and I needed to talk, and I didn’t want to upset you more, and I needed Sam focused.  Second, I want to apologize for what I’ve done to you both._

_You may not remember, but after Sammy came home from the hospital, wherever Sam was, you had to be.  We only got you back to sleeping in your room by giving you a baby monitor and something with fresh “Sammy scent.”  And Sam liked you better than she did the rest of us combined.  Your mom and I suspected right from the start that you two were Mates.  I’ve been trying to stave off your bonding—because I’m a selfish father who wasn’t ready to lose my girls, and because I’m scared that I won’t be able to protect you two once you leave my pack.  But I only made you two more miserable.  I risked your health with the suppressants, and I let Sam be afraid of her alpha and you angry at your omega.  I will never be able to express how sorry I am that my actions led to that._

_I’m putting the information for access to your dowry (your mother insisted) on the back of this page.  Do with it what you like.  I also gave Sam some money for a decent hotel room and hopefully a small start as a bonding gift.  I tried to give her my ring, but she wasn’t having it.  Hold on to it for her in case she wants it when she’s cooled down._

_Look out for Sammy, help her trust herself again.  Whatever happens, whatever you two do, you’re always welcome in my pack, and I’ll be a phone call away if you need me._

_Be safe._

_All my love,_

_Dad_

D startled when the paper bounced under the weight of a tear landing on it.  Of her tear landing on it.  Shit.  She swiped a wrist across her eyes and patted down the nightstand until she found her phone.  It was a good thing she had speed dial set up given how bad her hands were shaking and that she could barely see a damn thing.

The second the line clicked her voice came out small and cracked, “You’re _leaving_ us?”  Goddamnit, she sounded four again, distraught about her mom not coming out of the house, right before her grief stole her voice except to whisper to Sammy.

There was a heavy sigh and the sound of a blinker in the background.  “Did you just talk to Sam?  Or did you read the letter already?”

“Yeah, I read your fucking letter!”  D clapped a hand over her mouth.  She’d never cussed at her dad.  It was one of the things that she smacked Sam for, before—.  A sob ripped up out of her throat, too loud.  What the fuck was happening?

“Shh, shh, D, it’s okay.”

“How can you say that?  You’re abandoning us!”

The deep rumble of her dad’s truck cut out and for a distraught split second she thought he’d hung up. 

“I’m not abandoning you.  I’m getting out of you two’s way.”

The relief that he was still there was replaced with a mix of emotions, most prominently confusion.  “What?  You’re not in the way.  What’s that supposed to mean?”

He let out a wry laugh that reminded her way too much of Sam.  “It means they don’t make third wheels bigger than what I’ve been the past few years.  Although I think there’s a more explicit word for it.”

Oh.  Her wet cheeks warmed and things got a lot quieter in her.  He really wasn’t angry.

“But Sam—”

“Sam too,” he reassured.  “I’m not real sure what’s been going on between you two this past year, but I know at least part of it is because I haven’t exactly been a stellar role model for her.  I think she’s going to do a lot better out of my shadow, though.  That being said, if she ever does wrong by you and you need me, don’t hesitate to pick up the phone, okay?”

D scoffed.  “Sammy’s not going to—”

“I know.  But just in case, I need you to know you can call me, okay?”  His tone was urgent like the night before last.

“Okay, dad.”

“Good.”  He inhaled deeply and repeated the word under his exhale.  “Listen, sweetheart, I need to be two states over by nightfall for a probably-werewolf.  When you two have settled on whatever you’re going to do, give your old man a call every now and then, yeah?”

At least this was a little familiar.  “Yessir.”

“You’re going to be fine, D.  You’re with your Mate; isn’t that what all little omegas want?”

D pursed her lips against the smile at his pretend teasing.  “That’s designationist, Dad.”

He let out a little laugh and the truck roared back to life in the background.  “Alright, kiddo.  You got my number, and watch out for your sister.”  He paused and his next words were firm.  “I love you, D.  Sam loves you.  You can both take care of yourselves, and you’ll do just fine taking care of each other.  It’s going to be fine.”

Her chest was tight again.  It was almost a good feeling this time, though.  “Okay, dad.”

“Don’t be a stranger.  Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

The line cut out.  She put the phone on the nightstand and sat there frozen for several moments, just trying to process.  Her dad was gone, for good.  He was leaving her with Sam, almost like old-time marrying off of omegas.  Except he thought she and Sam were—were—

The door clicked open and D wiped her cheeks as Sam slipped in.  She put the letter back in the envelope with the ring and set it on the nightstand right as Sam set the coffee cups down a few inches away.  Her sister plopped down where she had been before, still shying away from eye contact.

“What’d it say?”

“That he loves us and we’re always welcome.”  She picked at the fraying hem of the flat sheet.  Sam was too angry to be receptive to the apology part, and she couldn’t say the rest.  It was too big; D wasn’t sure she believed it.

Sam nodded and shot a squirrely glance over at her.

“I know it’s not your favorite thing, but we really need to talk.  And I—I can’t think in here.  What do you say we hit the road and find an actual town to get some breakfast in?”

Wasn’t having a serious conversation in a public space something you did for breakups?  D’s chest got even tighter and Sam finally met her eyes.

“I’m not trying to freak you out.  I’m just having a hard time concentrating, and I’m super hungry, and you’re always in a better mood when you’re eating.”

D smiled a little.  “True.”  Well, whatever was going to happen was going to happen.  May as well get a meal out of it.  “Let me get ready.”

Sam stood and D got out of bed.  She grimaced when the sweater pulled awkwardly, and felt her face grow hot when she saw Sam staring.

“This is probably kind of fucked up and I get it if you…,” Sam’s hand flailed and her gaze skittered again before landing on D.  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you…wouldn’t clean that off just yet?”

She turned wide eyes to her awkward, blushing sister.  “What?”

“I think it helps.  The whole scent-marking thing, y’know?”

Sam wanted her to keep smelling like them.  That was a good sign, right?  Mortifying as hell, but promising on the whole ‘not being abandoned’ front.

“So you’re a gross, possessive brat?”  D tried to joke.

Her sister stared at her blankly for a second before she gave a shaky smile.  “Yeah, D.  Basically.”

Not exactly the response she’d been aiming for.

“Mmmmkay.  Give me a few minutes.”

Sam nodded and ran a hand through her hair before she turned away.  She was so tense, there was no way that boded well.  D glanced around the room as she grabbed her duffel and made the short trip to the bathroom.  If it weren’t for the lingering smells and the cum caked on her stomach, there’d be no indication last night had happened at all.

She wondered which of them had picked up all the jellybeans.

 

* * *

 

Sam dozed off five minutes into the drive, and D couldn’t stop snatching glances at her.  Yesterday she wouldn’t have thought that Sam could do much that would take D by surprise.  Sure, she couldn’t parse out the _reasons_ behind anything, but she knew basically what to expect.  Sam just had to buck that trend, though, and do something completely out of the blue that would have terrified D if it’d been anyone else.

Well, maybe not so out of the blue, because Dad genuinely thought…

But that was ridiculous, right?  Everything going on with her could be explained by just being some perv who had the hots for her little sister and having very little stable self-concept that didn’t circle back to said sister.  D had no idea what was going on with Sam.  If _that_ was going on, then there would have been signs, though, like—

Holy shit.

Like being able to purr and smell pheromones before popping.  That only happened when an alpha was with an exceptionally compatible omega, to promote the likelihood of bonding.  And Sam had done that with D last night.

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.  A burst of her pheromones filled the car and Sam shifted in her seat with a groan and D’s face was on fire and if Sam woke up there was no way D wouldn’t have a panic attack.

Okay, wait.  She clenched her hands tight around the steering wheel and forced herself into steady breathing.

Sam was fucked up, too.  She was a good couple years past when she was supposed to pop.  So something was going on.   What if her body was trying really hard to pop, and had turned to an easy outlet?  D’s pheromones had been sending a pretty clear signal of ‘take me now,’ and if Sam’s alpha was desperate enough, it was possible that it’d find a way to tune into that channel.

D rolled her window down a crack to air the car out.  If that was the case, then she needed to try to reign her scent glands in.  Maybe she needed stronger suppressants.  And she needed to help Sam find a more appropriate outlet.  Otherwise, Sam would get dragged into something she didn’t want just because of her biology.  As an omega, D knew how shitty that was.

So.  She wasn’t going to assume anything.  Sam wanted to talk, so she’d let Sam talk.  And whatever it turned out to be, D would be there to help because she’s an awesome big sister like that.

 

* * *

 

D put off stopping for the first two decent-sized towns they passed.  Sam wasn’t wearing makeup today, and the dark smudges under her eyes rivaled D’s.  She was pretty sure the kid hadn’t slept much the night before.

Hunger got the better of her by the third town and she pulled into the parking lot of a diner that didn’t look too skeevy.  She turned the car off and took a minute to just look.  It was weird, how Sam was simultaneously the geek kid sister that D had basically raised, and the fierce, independent woman that she’d somehow grown up to be.  She knew Sam better than anyone, and yet so much of her was a complete mystery.

 Freakin’ nerd, being all complex and shit.

It scared D how much she loved her, how much she wanted Dad to be right.  How much she wanted Sam to be hers.

She shook herself out of her daze, pulled the keys out, and got out of the car.  Sam somehow remained passed out through the screeching and slamming of the door.  D rounded the car and knocked on the glass by Sam’s ear until she finally stirred.  She stepped back and pretended not to watch as Sam yawned, stretched, and took in a deep breath before getting out of the car.

The diner was surprisingly busy for a Monday mid-morning.  There seemed to be a large population of elderly and stay-at-home moms in this town, and no one gave them a second glance when they walked in.  A young omega teen carrying a tray of dirty dishes told them to sit anywhere they liked as he walked past them.  Sam made a beeline for a front corner table that had an empty table on either side.  D overtook her as subtly as she could manage and stole the seat with the back to the door.  Sam was acting shifty and uneasy, so it was best if D was between her and the exit.  They had barely grabbed the laminated menus from the basket full of condiments and napkins when they were joined by a middle-aged woman who had seen too much sun.

“Welcome, my name’s Ashleigh.  What can I get you girls?”

Good thing about diners: they were hole-in-the-wall but almost always had the same stuff.  D smiled up at their waitress.

“I’ll take anything with scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage and/or bacon.  And coffee.”

“A short stack, fruit, and,” Sam handed two twenties over to Ashleigh, whose face got even more wrinkled in confusion as she took them.  “Could you just bring us a pot, maybe?  We’d like as much privacy as you can manage.”  She gave the puppy eyes and their waitress nodded and left, only shooting one odd look back at them.

They waited in tense silence until Ashleigh delivered on the coffee and left them to it.  And still Sam didn’t say anything.

D watched her fidgeting, clever tan fingers alternating between pulling on flannel sleeves and running through her loose hair, waves and half-curls lifting up and tumbling back around her like those paintings of cute, chunky nymphs.  D didn’t say a word and stayed still in contrast to Sam’s antsyness.  She wasn’t going to make any assumptions.  She was ready for anything.

“I’ve been able to smell you since I was 12.”

Well fuck, there went her theory about Sam’s alpha just being desperate.  She still couldn’t jump to conclusions.  Sam was finally meeting her eyes and, god, D wasn’t ready for the vulnerable hazel after all.

“What?”  Apparently her voice wasn’t ready either because she only barely creaked out the syllable.  “I definitely would have noticed if you’d popped.”

Sam shook her head and reached for the sugar.  “No, haven’t popped.  Obviously.  But I can smell you—like, all of you.  Like through doors and shit, even.”

Twelve…  Dad hadn’t known about the alphas outside the car all those years ago, Sam had.  That’s what Dad had been talking about a couple nights ago.  Yesterday—oh, god, _all_ of yesterday.  Her face burned.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“A lot of reasons, I guess.  Took me a while to figure out what was happening, what it meant.  Then I didn’t say anything because I was a pipsqueak, like hell was I going to try to tell you I was your alpha.  Then I had a shitty health teacher who said soulmates don’t exist,”—D’s heart leapt into her throat—“that incest is just as fucked up between AOs as between betas, that only man-woman couples can produce a healthy family, regardless of dynamics.  I mean, she was a real piece of work.  It took me a while to shake that off.”  Sam took a deep breath.

Familiar protectiveness beat out panic.  “You never told me that.  We should’ve talked to the principle or something.  That’s fucked.”

She shook her head.  “Drawing attention to it might have tipped you off that I was weird.  At that point all I wanted, more than _anything_ else, was to be normal.  So I never said anything to anyone.”

“Except Dad.”  Which honestly stung a little.  Most of the time it seemed like Sam couldn’t stand their dad, but that was who she’d decided to talk to rather than D.  “You didn’t think I deserved to know?  Or thought maybe it was reciprocated?”

“I never told Dad,” Sam protested earnestly.  “This is the first time I’ve talked about any of this to anyone.  And you seemed just fine with other people.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “I mean, you were gushing pheromones at a _beta_ yesterday.  So I’ve been figuring you’re not as fucked up as me, even if you do feel similar.”

D ruffled the hair at her nape in frustration and Sam twitched.  Oh.

“Okay.  One: I was not ‘gushing’ anything.  B: Those pheromones were in response to her calling you my girlfriend.”  Sam’s face relaxed in surprise.  “And third: Dad definitely knew you could smell me!”

“Not because I told him!  He—”

Ashleigh set their food down and only paused a moment, glancing between them and waiting for comments or requests, before leaving them to it.

D gave Sam a look as she dumped ketchup on her hash browns, prompting her to continue.  Sam slathered her pancakes in butter.

“What you said at the motel was accurate.”  She paused in pouring her syrup and made eye contact, hot and dark, and a shiver went up D’s neck.  “I am _incredibly_ possessive of you.”

Holy—.  D shoved eggs in her mouth and tried to ignore how fast her pulse was.  Sam turned back to her food.

“I guess he knew to expect it from the beginning, but before I decided to pretend everything was normal, Dad caught me glaring and growling at a girl you were flirting with.  That must’ve tipped him off because pretty soon after is when he started dictating who slept where and tried to keep you from being alone with me where he couldn’t see.  Comments about that and a few pointed talks about controlling one’s alpha instincts were the only time he alluded to knowing what was happening, the asshole.  But I never actually told him anything.”

D let her chew a forkful of pancake before asking, “So you know why one of us had to sleep outside when there was only one bed?”

Sam put another forkful of pancake in her mouth.  D got the distinct feeling that she was stalling and deciding how much to tell her.  She was going to be pissed if Sam kept up with the ‘keep things from the fragile omega slut’ trend.  That characterization probably wasn’t fair, but that’s what it felt like, damn it.  Sam glanced up at her.

“Dad told me last night that he was always scared that I would pop early because we were in each other’s pockets.  I’d pretty much figured that out.  You and me couldn’t share the bed, because who knows how my alpha would have responded.  It wouldn’t work for either of us to share with Dad because my alpha very much sees him as a threat.  I know, I know,” she placated when she saw D cringe, “but keep in mind that _we’re_ related, so incest isn’t exactly off limits as far as my alpha is concerned.”

“Still gross.”

Sam shrugged.

They ate in silence for a couple minutes while D processed.  Sam had been young, hurt, and scared.  Dad had admitted in his letter than he went about the whole thing selfishly.  They’d both known that she and Sam were soulmates, and neither of them had felt that D had enough of a right to know to bother talking to her.  Whaddaya know, turned out her assessment of it being alpha bullshit had been pretty accurate.

“Wait,” she said around her bacon, “so why no cots?”

Sam looked grossed out, and D was half-tempted to open her mouth to reveal the hash browns too.

“When I was littler, you’d have snuck me onto the bed.  Then I was too big.  Cots don’t get washed the same as sheets, and sheets are thin, so you’d have ended up smelling like other people.  In the same room as my alpha.”

“Jesus.  It’s really that bad?”

She zoned out while chewing again, but this time it felt like she was gearing up, which was better than possibly lying.  Sam sighed and put her fork down.  Rubbed at her face and stared out the window at the bright desert morning.

“You remember that alpha at the gas station in Utah about a year or so ago?”

“Yeah.”

Some asshole hadn’t taken kindly to D’s “no” and had grabbed her around the throat, such a swift shift from his attempted charm that D hadn’t been fast enough to block him. Then Sam had appeared out of nowhere, all barely-restrained fury, and scared the guy off.  D’s O had gone all gooey and hot from mistakenly thinking that Sam was staking a claim on her.  Although, maybe it was less of a misunderstanding than she’d thought.  All of that had gone down shortly before Sam’s mysterious pulling away.

“I—” Sam looked like she was a second from crying.  “I wanted to hurt him, D.  I wanted to run after him and break him for so much as looking at you.  And what I wanted to do to _you_ —” Her voice broke and her next breath in was ragged and wet and D felt her own eyes get misty.  Sam sniffed and blinked rapidly before looking back at D.  “It’s not always that bad, but it’s always there.  Every time you flirt with someone else, every time you smell like someone else, every time someone else touches you, every time I smell you a little more than usual.  So, yeah, I didn’t tell you.  Because it’s not your fault and I’m sure as fuck not going to let you alter your whole life and stop being YOU just because I have to keep a tight leash on my alpha.”

D drew in a sharp breath.  “You’re holding your knot back.  On purpose.  Because you’re scared it’ll get worse.”

The dimples of despair were back.  “I’m so scared, D.  It’s why I haven’t touched you: every time I do, my alpha _screams_ at me to just—”  She sucked in another ragged breath and slipped a hand under her bangs to cradle her forehead.  “I’ve been so scared that I’d hurt or attack you, and look what happened.”

D pushed her plate away and watched her sister wipe at her eyes.

“You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

Sam looked adorable, all teary-eyed confusion like a little kid, and wow it was kind of fucked up that D found it attractive.

“You’re experiencing shit that only really happens with soulmates and you thought I’d be, what?  Inconvenienced?  Soulmates is a two-way thing, remember?  We could have been together years ago if you’d just _said_ something.”

“And what about you, D?”  And there was her indignant little sister.  “If it goes both ways, why’d you never say anything?”

D threw her hands up.  “I didn’t know about the soulmate thing, Sam!  If you hadn’t noticed,” she patted down her barely-there tits and skinny hips, “I’m nine kinds of hormonally fucked up—my instincts are fucked too!  And you really think I’d say something to my baby sister, who I’m responsible for, about how the person she relied on most wanted to fuck her?  Really?”

“Like you reminded me yesterday, I’ve been legal for a month now, and yet!”

“And you haven’t touched me in a YEAR!”  There were tears in her eyes now, and she could feel the stares of the others in the diner.  She sat back and forced her shoulders and fingers to relax.  “You’ve been avoiding me like I’ll _contaminate_ you.  What the fuck was I supposed to make of that, Sammy?”

Wild eyes flitted across D’s face before Sam settled back.  “Alright, that’s fair.”

“Goddamn right it’s fair.  I’ve been going out of my fucking mind trying to figure out what the hell I did wrong so I could fix it.  For almost a year.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, D.  I’m mad as hell that Dad never said anything, but I never said anything either.  I take full responsibility.”

“Good.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up and finish your breakfast.”

Sam stared at her for a moment, gauging how angry D was, then ducked her head and tucked into her soggy pancakes.  D settled back and nursed her coffee.

So the whole past year of agony was all because of a failure to communicate.  Like some made-for-TV romcom with a huge side of angst.  Jesus.  Sam’s reasons were based on legitimate fears, though, so at least there was that.  D still wasn’t exactly over the moon, but she felt a lot less helpless and furious.  She actually felt kind of proud that Sam was being so open and taking responsibility.  They undoubtedly had more laundry to air, but D already felt lighter.

Sam didn’t hate her.  More than that, D’s feelings were reciprocated, so much so that it scared Sammy.  That shouldn’t have been reassuring, that her sister was as fucked up over D as D was over her.  God, they were a mess.

“I just thought I was a huge pervert this whole time,” she confessed.

Sam gave a little laugh that sounded a lot like relief and smiled up at D from under her lashes with glittering, heated eyes.  “You are.  Just not about this.”

Something crowded the breath out of her lungs.  Fuck, the kid should come with a warning.  D licked her lips and set her coffee cup on the table.

“Okay.”  Sam looked back up at her.  “Okay.  I get it, I think.  You were—are—scared and feeling overwhelmed.  Way I see it, there’s an easy fix.”  Sam raised her eyebrows in disbelief at ‘easy’.  D took in a deep breath, wrapped her fingers around her cup to keep them from shaking all over the place, and wished her scent glands would calm the fuck down.  “So you gonna mate me or what, kiddo?  Because I’ve been low-key waiting since you were like 13, which is pretty fucked up, but there it is, and it sounds like you really need to get laid like ASAP, but this isn’t a one night stand, so I’m going to need some assurance that you’re not going to wham-bam-ma’am me, and—” She cut off when a grape bounced off her cheek.

Sam was bright red and teary-eyed.  Dimples of delight were deep in her cheeks, and the tightness in D’s chest eased.

“Shut the hell up, D, oh my god, you’re babbling.”

D popped the grape in her mouth and chewed.  Sam studied her for a couple beats.

“You’re serious?”

D grinned like she wasn’t a stone’s throw from a panic attack.  “You’re the queen of all my dreams.  Literally.”

“Queen, not princess,” Sam pointed out.  “So stop calling me kiddo.  I’m not a kid anymore.”

She gave Sam an exaggeratedly suggestive once-over.  “Oh, I know.”

“I’m serious.  If we do this, it has to be as equal partners.  Not you leading because you’re older, not me leading because I’m alpha.”

D frowned, considering.  “Just as long as you understand that just like you have alpha instincts, I have big sister instincts, and sometimes they’re going to get the best of me.  Not all of us have superhuman self-control.”

“Deal, as long as you actually try.”

Since they were on the topic of relationship dynamics, “One other thing I want to make clear: you will never prevent me from seeing or talking to Dad, no matter how pissed you are at him.  You two and Baby are all I got in this world.”

“I would never—” Sam reassessed the stare D was giving her.  It was not a conversation, it was D informing Sam of how it was.  “Understood.”

“Good.  Anything else?”

Sam pursed her lips and scanned the diner.

“Before we do this, we’ll need to talk more behind-closed-doors stuff out.  We doing this today or easing into it like reasonable people?”

D smacked her hand on the table.  “Now’s the time, the time is now!”

“You’re ridiculous.  You put up with emo angst crap, but I have to put up with your pop culture obsessions.”

“Excuse you, I think you mean my appreciation of classics.  Zepp, man!  And don’t even pretend you don’t love it.”

“I love something.”  Her eyes were bright and smiling again as she munched on the last of her fruit.  D held the eye contact as long as she could, but she wasn’t used to Sam looking at her all hungry and happy, and her scent glands and pounding heart didn’t need any more encouragement.  She averted her gaze to look out at the barren landscape and jammed the last of her bacon in her mouth.

“Just checking: you remember that I’m probably infertile, right?”

Sam blinked in surprise.  “We’ve never actually confirmed that.  And even if you are, if we really want kids someday, we’ll figure it out.  It’s honesty not a big deal to me, so don’t worry about my end.”

D exhaled heavily and something deep and raw inside her eased.  Sam was one of the most stubborn people on the planet; if she was determined, it would happen.  Like holding back something that was supposed to be involuntary by sheer force of will.

“ ’kay.”  She finished off her third cup of coffee.  “Dad gave you some money, right?  We can hit up a Walmart for supplies and find a decent place.”

“Sounds good.”

“You done?”

Sam nodded and drained her own cup.

“Alright, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

D waved at their waitress on the way out and just got a stare in return.  Fair enough, they had basically told her to fuck off and let them fight.

The air was already simmering over the pavement outside.  Sam was walking closer than she had in forever, and D fought back a smile.  They still hadn’t touched, but already the ache of missing her sister was softer.  It probably wouldn’t be long before she was laughing about this whole disaster of a year—hell, of a _decade_.  Ever since—

“Wait.  Why no sleeping bags?”

Sam didn’t miss a beat.  “Bad for Dad’s back.  In the early days, no way you wouldn’t have snuck so we were sharing the bed.”

“No, like me in a cot with a sleeping bag.  It’s way thicker than sheets, and would already smell like me.  If the issue was just scenting.”

Sam stopped dead a few feet from the passenger side, so abrupt that D almost ran into her.  Wouldn’t that fucking figure, all this build up and then first contact was accidental bumping into each other.

She rounded to look at Sam and when D caught her eye, a little hysterical giggle bubbled out of her and she ran her hand through her bangs.

“I don’t think that ever occurred to either of us.”

D rolled her eyes.  Yup, macho alpha bullshit.  “And that, Sammy,” she stepped even closer, Sam’s warmth like a second sun, and was pleased to see her pupils dilate, “is why you talk to your omega.”

She preened at the way Sam gaped after her as she skirted Baby to the driver’s side.  Her image was hurt a little by the burst of pheromones trailing behind her, but that would fluster Sam, too, so it was still a win.

Sam squirmed as D turned the ignition and put Baby in reverse, and D barely held back laughter when she realized that Sam was trying to adjust a boner.

“Alright, let’s go scandalize some Monday morning Walmarters with an unbonded omega covered in jizz.”

She cackled at Sam’s pitiful groan and felt better than she had in years.

 

* * *

 

It took two more towns after their Walmart adventure to finally find something decent that had an AO nondiscrimination sticker on one of its lobby windows.  Discrimination at large was illegal, but even some dinky motels they’d tried to stay at had refused to let an unmated alpha and omega share a room.  A sticker meant it was more likely that that wouldn’t happen, and that they may even cater to AO needs, like laundry detergent that actually worked.  Like, she appreciated that Sam thought it was important enough to hold out for, but she still let out a “Oh thank fuck, finally” when Sam approved the hotel.

It was a fancy one, and she stared down the 30-something-year-old beta valet before she handed the keys to Baby over with a warning that she knew her way around a hunting knife.

The lobby was ornate but tasteful, and D glanced around as she covered Sam’s back through the large front room to the reception desk.  There were people milling about in groups and on their own and on phones, in business suits and in some of the sluttiest outfits D had seen outside of a strip club, and everything in between.  Two unsupervised preteens were at a long table set up with several desktops and a printer, giggling at whatever they had on the screen.  There was an omega barely visible behind a coffee table, kneeling at the feet of an alpha who was having a casual phone conversation on an otherwise unoccupied couch.  D’s skin crawled.  Nondiscrimination meant also not discriminating against the fucked-up traditionalists.

They finally reached the front desk—seriously, the lobby was the length of at least three motel rooms, what the hell could they possibly need that much room for—and the omega receptionist held eye contact with D for a moment, obviously confused but trying to be a professional.  D could only imagine how they looked: cheap, worn clothes, half a dozen mismatched bags, an unmated adult omega with almost no curve who smelled like the sterile cum of the teenage alpha next to her.

“Do you have a reservation?”

The question had been directed at Sam, averted gaze and all, but D answered.  “No, but we were—”

The receptionist was already clacking away, though, and D shot Sam a quick glance.  She had no idea what was happening either.  The omega programmed a couple keys, tucked them into a labeled sleeve, and slid it across the marble counter towards Sam.

“Top floor.  The first two days are half off for recently or soon-to-be bonded pairs.  It’s soundproof and housekeeping won’t enter unless you call us to request.”

Sam’s cheeks were adorably pink, and D was too pleased with that to feel much embarrassment herself.

“Thank you, we sure appreciate it,” D smiled at her fellow O, who looked startled that D was still the one talking.  She handed over their fake information, and listened to how check out worked in situations like theirs.  ‘Clarissa’ kept shooting glances at Sam, clearly expecting her to be doing all of the…everything, really.  Sam was staring up at the intricate metalwork art hanging on the wall behind the desk.  Embarrassment apparently put her in the little sister mode of letting D handle the grown-up stuff.  Good to know.

D managed to keep quiet until the elevator doors closed on just the two of them.  “Who’d have thunk it?  You being gross and possessive saved us imaginary money.  Kind of presumptuous, though; maybe I’m just a cute escort you wanna go all Jackson Pollock on.”

Sam was bright red.  “Shut it.”

She just grinned, smug, and rocked back and forth on her feet until they reached their floor.

There were significantly fewer rooms on their floor than she would have expected, but then it clicked when Sam swung open the door and they stepped inside—it was basically a honeymoon suite.  It was a good thing Debbie Jett wasn’t real, otherwise she’d be hurting at the end of this, discounts or not.  Hell, D may need to make sure they have a backup card.

“Oh my god.”

“I know, right??”  D had already dumped her bags on a chair and was scoping out the bedroom.  A couple nightstands and lamps and a giant four-poster bed with a canopy.  She ran her hand over the bunched curtain tied to the posts.  It was thin and slick—holy shit, it was that weird-ass material that didn’t take on scents, meaning it would trap scent if they were released to fall around the bed.  “Money, Sammy, money.”  D paused in the bathroom doorway.  “Woah.”

The skin on her back and neck prickled when Sam stepped up right behind her.  “Woah,” she agreed.

Even the basics were nicer than anything D had seen—a marble counter with double sinks and actual drawers and cabinets underneath, and the toilet had what looked like a nozzle from a kitchen sink, which was a mystery to D.  A fancy mystery, to be sure, but still baffling.  There was a giant clawfoot tub with a variety of pastel and beige bottles and wrapped bars arranged on a side table next to it, and a stall shower that could easily fit five people with a bench and detachable shower heads (yes, _plural_ ).  The entire far wall was a doorless linen closet stocked with fluffy cream-colored towels and washcloths, and the kind of blanket selection that would give a department store a run for its money and make the average omega wet.  If the water pressure was anything like she was expecting, D was probably going to have not-wet dreams about this bathroom.

Sam shifted behind her.  “So.  We’re behind closed doors.”

“That we are.”

“Couch?”

D hummed her assent and followed Sam back into the front room.  Sam sat down on one end of the couch, and D settled in the opposite corner, like the night before.  She shifted and was derailed when her arm brushed against the blanket draped over the back.  That was even softer than her sweater, holy fuck, it felt good against her face.  If the ones in the linen closet were this soft, D was building a nest and never leaving, and Sam could very well fuck herself if she gave any shit about it.  And D might be stealing as many as she could stash.

“D?”  Sam was looking at her, brow crinkled and lips quirked in a hesitant smile.  “You okay over there?”

“It’s soft,” D murmured.  She pouted when Sam outright grinned at her.

Her sister cleared her throat and smoothed her face.  “So, I’ve done some research—”

D couldn’t help the guffaw that burst out of her.  “Of course you did, you total dweeb.  So begins one of the least interesting sex talks in history.”

“Screw you,” came the mild retort.

She gave an exaggerated shrug, playing her part.  “You’re the one insisting on talking first.”

Sam gave her a look.  “We really do need to talk, before we regress into walking hormone factors.”

“‘Regress’?  Sammy, you flatter me.”

“Can you take this seriously?”

“Have you met me?”

“Deanna, please.”

D glared.  Party foul.

“I—” Sam ran a hand through her bangs and D watched her hair tumble.  “I need to know you want this.”

“Did you miss the part where I proposed, Samuella?”

Sam shot her a dirty look and D smirked.  Considering that Sam disliked her full name even more than D did her own, ‘Deanna’ really shouldn’t even be in her vocabulary.

“I didn’t miss the part where you called it a ‘fix.’  I didn’t miss the part where I’ve seriously fucked up and hurt you in a way that isn’t going to just disappear after one conversation.”

Well somebody did a lot of thinking in the car.

“Don’t underestimate my ability to repress and move on, sis.”  Sam just gave her puppy eyes.  D groaned and rubbed her face against the blanket again.  “What do you want me to say, Sam?  We’re soulmates, why are you even stressing about this?”

“Being soulmates doesn’t necessarily mean you really want to mate with me.  That’s literally until death, D.   I just want to make sure you _want_ this.”

Aw, shit.  “Don’t make me say it,” D whined.

“If I did make you say it, would you mean it?”

D huffed, offended.  “Of course I would, you asshole.”

Finally, Sam relaxed.  Smiled, small but dimpled.  “Same.  And I have no problem saying it, if you ever wanna hear it.”

She groaned again.  “Spare me.”

Sam laughed a little and a few quiet seconds passed of them just holding eye contact.  Then Sam mirrored D and half-buried her face against the back of the couch and peeked out at D.

“Unless I missed something, that could have been hashed out at the diner.”

“Right.  I’m fine with doing this today, but I still think we should try to go slow.  Ease into it.”

“Not very alpha of you.”

“Well, that’s kind of the problem, right?  I haven’t touched you in—God. So. Long. Because every time I did—”  Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Why does that mean going slow?”

“The further we can be from frenzied, the better.  Also, research.”

“You keep saying that, but I’m not hearing any overwhelming nerdiness.”

“Shut up, jerk.”  Sam’s gaze darted and her tongue flicked out to wet her lips.  Not that D noticed or anything.  “It’s just.  Side effects of long-term suppressant abuse.  Like how I’m pretty sure I wasn’t imagining that you were a baby step into a heat last night.”

“…Maybe.”  That would explain a couple things.

Sam nodded.  “I think your body is trying like hell to overcome the suppressants.  Apparently, it’s like pre-knot sensitivity in alphas: our body working extra hard to get us mated when there’s someone perfectly compatible around.  We’re like two sides of a coin.”  She gave a quick smile then got fidgety again.  “But another thing is that…some things aren’t as well-developed as they should be.”

A lump formed in D’s throat.  “Is this about my tits or something?”

“What?  No!  This is about your bones.  Or something.”

“My bones.”

Sam’s hands fluttered and her mouth opened and closed a few times before she turned to face D head-on with a determined stare.  “During omega puberty, your bones are supposed to get denser.  You’re supposed to get sturdier.”

“So you’re calling me frail.”

She gave an impatient huff.  “I’m saying that if I lose control, I’m going to try to fuck you as hard as I possibly can, and if you go into heat, you’ll let me.  And I’m saying that thanks to the suppressants, there’s a good chance that doing so would literally injure you.  So I’m _saying_ we go slow to reduce the chances of me losing control, of you going into heat, and me ending up having to take you to the hospital in the middle of trying to bond.”

Now both of them were bright red.

“Slow it is, then.”  And, hell, if they were going to be this transparent and graphic— “I almost stuffed your jizz in me last night.”  Sam’s eyebrows shot up.  “The heat thing, I guess?  And if we’re going to try to avoid that… I get tested every time I get a refill for birth control, which I’m on just in case, and I was clean the last time and haven’t done a whole lot since, definitely nothing _risky_ —”

“I’ve only been with a couple people, and we were always safe,” Sam mercifully interrupted.

D grinned, desperate to break the awkwardness.  “Attagirl.  See, all those mortifying safe sex talks I subjected you to paid off.”

Sam hummed in playful suspicion.  “Any other mortifying sex stuff we need to talk about?”

D peeked over the edge of the couch and looked at the bed.  The big, nicely-made bed that her alpha was going to gently fuck her into sometime today.  Jesus.  Talk about a complete 180 from her life just yesterday.

“I’d like to no longer be covered in crusty cum.”

Sam snorted.  “I think that’s fair.  Bathroom?”

D climbed over the edge of the couch and headed toward the bathroom, her heart going a mile a minute.

A faucet turned on behind her as she went for a washcloth, which meant that Sam had followed her.  She carried the ultra-soft cloth back to the sink, and they both waited for the water to heat up and avoided eye contact.  D’s brooding about what could go wrong, what would happen when Sam came to her senses, was interrupted when Sam plucked the washcloth out of her hands.  She ran it under the water, turned the faucet back off, and looked over at D from under her lashes.

“Can I?”

It took D a long beat to figure out what she meant.  Exposing her stomach felt more vulnerable than it had last night.  Sam stepped closer, right into D’s intimate space, and D gave a quiet gasp despite herself.  She could feel the warmth, and Sam-scent was sinking into her already.  The hot towel touched her jumpy abdomen and she gave a sharper gasp.  Sam started a soft circular motion that felt unfairly pornographic.

“I’m sorry.”

“Whuh?”

“For basically attacking you.  And for leaving when Dad came in.”

“Oh.  S’okay.”

Sam looked at her, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown.  D had no doubt hers were the same.

“It’s not.  I have to be better than that if I’m going to be your alpha.”

“You will be.”

The washcloth made an unattractive plopping noise when Sam tossed it onto the counter without breaking eye contact.  The damp left on D’s tummy was cold, but if she let go, what would she do with her hands?

“And I’m so sorry about being a total dick and avoiding you so much.”  Sam leaned in a tiny bit closer, all but towering over her, and D felt like her skin was hindering her, keeping the reaching ache trapped beneath it.  “Tell me how to make it up to you.”

“Well…”  D licked her lips and they were such a cliché because Sam stared.  She took a bracing breath.  Here went everything.  “You could start by kissing me.”

Sam gave a tiny nod and ducked even closer until their breath mixed.  D closed her eyes and tilted her chin slightly, tremoring with anticipation until the barest pressure settled on her lips, and D’s mouth opened in a ragged gasp.  How long since they touched _at_ _all_ and now soft, intimate contact that everything in her zeroed in on, like her soul itself wanted to crowd into her lips just to be touching Sam.  And something similar must have been happening to her sister and a dam broke or something because Sam made a deep noise and then it was too much—Sam’s mouth open and hot against her own, callused hands sliding across her cheeks into her hair and to cup her jaw and tilt her even closer and a nip at D’s lower lip and too much too much, D’s knees wavered and her fingers unclenched from her sweater to push against her sister’s waist.

Sam was visibly reluctant, but she pulled back, her eyes bright and blown.  “D?”

D dragged in a breath, hyperaware of the cool air flowing over her sensitive lips.  She spread her hands out against Sam’s torso—firm and shifting with Sam’s heavy breaths—and shuddered when a thumb stroked across her cheek, leaving a streak of tingling heat.

“Just.  Cool down there, cowgirl.  We got plenty time, no need to maul me.  Slow, remember?”

Sam’s sheepish smile was one of the most beautiful things D had ever seen.

“Sorry, sorry.  I’ll try.  Not gonna lie, though, I’m really glad to know that you can push me away.”

She scoffed.  “I _can_ say ‘no’ to you, Sammy.”  She tugged on Sam’s shirt and looked up at her coquettishly.  She was never going to tire of Sam looking star-struck while looking at her.  “I just hardly ever want to.”

Sam breathed out her name and crowded in on her.  D was stuck between being turned on at how much taller Sam was and hating how her being misshapen meant that they would both end up with sore necks if they tried to make out while standing up.

“I can’t believe I’m the one having to say this, but stop thinking so much,” Sam chided, then caught her in a kiss before D could express offense.

This kiss was better—not that the first one had been bad, by any means.  But this one was syrupy, all slow and thick and sweet.  D settled her hands on Sam’s lower ribs and leaned up a little.  She pulled her weight but was perfectly content to stay pliant, coast with Sam’s gradual deepening of the kiss, and bask in the singing pleasure brought by every Sam-touch.  By the time Sam pulled back, D’s legs were shaking both from the kiss and from being on her tiptoes for so long due to Sam’s insistent campaign against any space between them.

Sam followed her when she lowered the few inches to her heels, and buried her nose in D’s hair.  Now both thumbs were brushing lazily over D’s cheeks and that was doing really weird things to her that she wasn’t sure if she liked or not, so she reached up and held them still.  A little jolt went through her at the contact—the first time her fingers touched Sam’s bare skin in _how long_.  Now she understood why Sam was rubbing so much, at least: D wanted to catalogue the textures, the heat, the tiny tremors, the feeling welling up in her throat.

“Missed you,” gusted into her hair on a hot sigh.

She caught the “and whose fault is that” just before it left her mouth.  Sam had repented and was trying to make up for what she’d done; D didn’t need to be dragging pettiness into it.  She’d have the rest of her life to be petty.  She squeezed her hands over Sam’s and whispered, “Ditto.”

But either Sam was psychic or D had a tell, because Sam pulled back and slid her hands into D’s hair to cradle her head.  Very earnestly, she repeated, “Seriously, D.  Whatever you need from me to make this better.”

D was distracted, though, by the tangle that Sam had accidentally caught.  It hadn’t occurred to her to actually brush her hair after coaxing it out of the rat’s nest remains of her bun this morning, but now something a thousand times better was occurring to her.

She jerked out of Sam’s hold and turned to the sinks to rifle through the cabinets.  Surely they’d have—yes!

She felt a little bad when she saw the confused, slightly wounded look on Sam’s face.  She could have been less abrupt.  She lifted the unzipped kit and Sam tilted her head in confusion.

“I want you to cut my hair.  Like, most of it.  Off.  Right now.”

Sam just looked at her.  Suddenly it was awkward.

“It’s just.  I only keep it long because it helps a little with damping the pheromones and i-if you’re going to bite me, then I won’t need to worry about that anymore, so I won’t need all this hair.  I kind of seriously hate it.”

Sam was glancing between D’s hair and the clipper strapped in the kit and a wave of doubt washed over her.  She was already shaped like a 2-by-4, and chopping her hair off would make her look even more like a beta boy.  And what if Sam didn’t actually want to bite her?  A collar would work to a certain extent, but her scent would be mostly unchanged and collars could be ripped off—

“How do you want it?”

Hazel eyes were warm and gentle when Sam caught her gaze again.  Right.  Sam could smell her, including her mini panics.  D turned, set the kit down, and centered herself in front of one of the mirrors.  She would compromise, try to go for something still a little feminine.

“You remember those hot stewardesses from _The Fifth Element_?”

Sam huffed a laugh and shook her head.

“Well, I guess,” she gathered her hair and moved it to illustrate, “short in the back, leave my bangs alone, and front a little longer so it doesn’t look like I have a bowl cut?”

“Are…are you sure you don’t want to just hold out until we leave and our first stop be someone who knows what they’re doing?”

“That can still be our first stop.  But I want it gone now.  Even if you slip and I end up with a buzzcut, I’ll be happy, promise.”

Sam still hesitated in taking the pieces out of the elastic bands keeping them in place.  D took off her necklace and tucked it safe by the box of tissues under the mirror as she watched Sam debate which comb to use.  She hesitated a moment before she pulled her sweater off, too, and put it by the other sink.  She fought the urge to cross her arms over herself, which was easier when she saw how Sam was looking at her reflection as she stepped behind D.  She politely ignored the little noise Sam made when D bowed her head forward once the clipper was buzzing and ready to go.  Her breath shook out of her at the first tentative pass Sam made at her nape.  She was hypersensitive with Sam and her scent so close, the falling hair tickled, and the vibrations were resonating through her, lighting up her nerves.  A couple more swipes and then Sam ran it firm up the back of her head and D’s legs almost gave out.

It was three minutes of D clutching onto the counter for dear life and feeling like she was about to vibrate out of her skin before Sam turned the clippers off and tossed them down onto the counter.  The thought to chide Sam for being so careless barely flitted through her mind before Sam hugged her close from behind.  The fact that she could feel her sister’s erection against the small of her back was overshadowed by how tight her insides clenched as Sam brushed lips against her cheek and D’s knees legit gave for a split second.  The arms pulled firmer around her and D tipped her head back and whined when Sam nosed down to the newly bare curve of neck where her scent gland was back at its impression of a hormonal teenager.

“God, D.”  Big hands dragged low on her abdomen and D felt close to shuddering apart, surrounded so much by Sam’s touch and scent and almost everything that D had been aching for the better part of a year.  “I’ll cut your hair every week if this is how you react.”

D almost laughed.  She shook her head.  “Just—you’re so close.  Touching.  And vibrations.”  Sam nuzzled and D did laugh this time, and the worst of the tension dissipated.  “You’re going to get hair all over your face.”  She caught Sam’s eyes in the mirror.  “I need a shower.  Alone.”

Sam nodded and stepped back.  D immediately felt cold.

“You know what you can do in the meantime?”  Sam watched her grab a load of blankets from the closet and bring them over.  She took them with a questioning expression.  “Build me a nest.”  Sam’s eyebrows shot up and D grinned.  “Impress me, Sammy.”

“Is it grounds for divorce if I fuck up?”

Sam looked genuinely apprehensive and D’s cheeks hurt from how hard she was smiling.  “You’d have to really fuck up.  Like, dead pigeon level fuck up.”

“I think I can manage to keep it corpse-free.”

“That’s the spirit.  I believe in you.”  Lord knew how D kept a straight face.

She rinsed the clippers until Sam pulled the door closed behind herself.  Then she stared at her reflection.  Sam hadn’t completely butchered it—shorter than D had thought she’d go for in the back, but that was encouraging if anything.  The longer bits were uneven, one above and one just under chin length.  She looked down at the mess of dark hair on the floor and felt about twenty pounds lighter.  She extricated herself from the puddle of hair, stripped out of her jeans and shorts, and set her clothes outside the door for Sam.  She grabbed a towel, draped it over the side of the tub, picked a loofah and the least frilly-looking of the available soaps, and finally started the shower.

Fuck yeah, this was officially a wet dream bathroom.

With her hair shorter, she could feel the water hitting directly on her scalp like a massage and that was so beyond awesome.  She wondered sometimes if liking showers so much was part of her O, too.  Like if good water pressure imitated the heat and touch of another person.  Either way, the steady beating of water against sensitive skin and tense muscles gave her the best kind of goosebumps.  She scrubbed down and stood with the water beating against her nape and shoulders.

This was it.  Once she was out, Sam was going to mate her.  Her body would forever be altered to show Sam’s claim, that Sam wanted her, thought she was good enough to mate.  God only knew how D got so lucky.  So it was just up to D to not find a way to fuck everything up.  No pressure.  She rinsed again and turned the water off.  She was definitely coming back for more later, would hopefully even bring Sam along.

She groaned when she started toweling off.  She was also absolutely stealing a towel, holy fuck.  She laid another towel down over the pile of hair to grab her necklace and wrapped herself in a third towel.  She seriously loved this bathroom.

She took a bracing breath and opened the door.  Froze when she saw the pile of clothes in front of the doorway.  Well that was…unexpected.  She crouched and picked them up.  Nothing unusual, just underthings and her bamboo rayon pajamas.  She shot a questioning look at Sam, who was pacing by the bed, talking on the phone about something that sounded like ‘family housing’.  If someone was calling them because they’d found a hunt, they could damn well call someone else to take it.

She took the clothes into the bathroom and dressed.  She’d only used a towel and her hair was already almost dry, holy shit, she was going to love having short hair.  She glimpsed herself in the mirror.  She looked ready to be tucked in for bed.  Hopefully this wasn’t Sam hinting that she had changed her mind about doing this today—or at all.  She honestly just wanted it over with so all the uncertainty and doubt about Sam’s feelings would stop.  No time like the present.

Her heart raced as she opened the door, and something sappy rose in her when her gaze landed on Sam’s bare feet peeking from under her jeans.  She had released the curtains, and D could only see her from the knee down where she was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Sam perked up and sat straighter when D stood in front of her.              

“Was it Dad or someone with a hunt?”

“Hm?”

“The phone call.”

“Oh.”  Sam tilted her head.  “No.  I’ll tell you about it later.  This is more important.  Unless you’re leaving me for the shower, which I’d kind of understand.”  Her smile slipped into a concerned pout when D didn’t react.  She was stuck on the easy seriousness with which Sam had just blatantly prioritized them, _her_.  She startled slightly when Sam ran a hand down her arm—still so new, goosebumps spread over her neck and back from the sensation.  “Hey, you still with me?”

D was weirdly thankful that Sam didn’t reiterate that their mating could wait.  She hoped her little sister was as desperate as she was.  D slid her hand into Sam’s and tried to tamp down her embarrassing grin.  "Yeah, just...still trying to wrap my head around this, y'know?"

Sam hummed and stared down at their entwined fingers.  "I figure that as long as we're on the same page about wanting this, then we're good.  If you have any doubts, it'd be best to get them out in the open now."  Her round lips quirked a little when she looked up at D and D tugged her hand back in order to cup Sam's face and shuffle closer to kiss her.  It was brief, and so sweet, and brimming with possibility.

"I get the feeling that the only real doubt for either of us is that the other one must have doubts."

Her sister's laugh puffed against her cheek and D stopped trying to reign in the grin.  She had missed Sam so goddamn much.  Couldn't hardly remember the last time she'd made Sam laugh with positive emotion until today.

"Yeah, that sounds like us," Sam agreed.  She peeked up at D from under her lashes, her mouth pursed in a way that made her dimples pop.  Jesus.  "I'm going to get over my fear of hurting you, leaving my only doubt being that you'll decide I've been too much of a jackass before we even started this thing.  I trust you, I want this, and I’ll do my best to be the alpha you deserve.  Pinky promise."  She stuck her pinky out.

"Don't worry, I promise to hold you to making up for being such a jackass, now and in the future.  You can talk to me, Sam.  About anything, okay?  And I’ll do my best to not be a total fuck-up of a mate.  Pinky promise.”

D hooked her pinky against Sam’s and gave a trembly smile.

"Okay," Sam whispered.

"Okay."

They held eye contact and lasted all of three seconds before they burst into giggles and let go.

"Are the mandatory chick flick moments finally done with?  Can we get to the sex already?"

Sam rolled her eyes, but her grin was bright.  "I thought we'd agreed on slow?"

"Still sex."

"So romantic."

"You know it."

D stepped further into the vee of Sam’s legs when Sam tugged on the bottom of her shirt.  She ran her fingers through Sam’s hair, all thick and soft.  She combed it back like she was going to put it half up and Sam tilted her face up, eyes closed and clearly inviting a kiss.  D used her hold on Sam’s hair to tilt her face as she kissed the beauty mark by her nose, on her temple under her fluffy bangs, by her ear.  Sam tried to catch her in an actual kiss when she reached the mark by her mouth, but D pulled her hair harder and grinned when Sam growled as she kissed the marks on her chin and then the one on the front of her throat.  She nipped her jawline on the way back up to Sam’s slack mouth.  She licked the barely-there dent of Sam’s top lip, then sucked on the semicircle bottom lip.  Sam made a throaty noise and grabbed the back of D’s head and tugged her down.  They broke apart just long enough for D to catch Sam’s lustful glare before the tops of her cheeks were assaulted with quick pecks.  A startled shriek tore out of D, giving Sam a split-second warning before D shoved her away.  Sam went down easy on her elbows and looked up at D with raised eyebrows.

She hesitantly lowered her hands from where they’d instinctually clapped over her face to protect what was apparently a very sensitive part of her.  No one had ever….  She scrubbed over her cheeks and patted them.  The back of her neck was still tingling fiercely and shooting sparks all down her spine, gathering on her flank.

Sam’s hair spilling over onto the beige blanket distracted her.  Her sister’s mouth was twitching with the effort of not laughing at her.  Bitch.

“Are…are your freckles ticklish?  Or an erogenous zone?  Both?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sammy,” D whispered.

There was that bright grin again.  D changed her mind: Sam could damn well stop smiling like that anytime.

“That’s adorable.”

D kicked Sam’s ankle.  “I said shut the fuck up.  Or you’re never kissing me again.”

Sam sat back up and put her hands on D’s hips.  D bit back a moan at the skittering pleasure that shot through her when Sam’s long, warm fingers slid over where the sparks had settled.  One hand settled around her waist and the other came to a stop between her shoulder blades and Sam pulled her into a tight hug.

All the tension that D had still been carrying without realizing eased.  Her shoulders dropped a couple inches and she breathed with her diaphragm, taking Sam-scent deep into her lungs.  Sam’s scent surrounded her, and her arms were so firm and sure around her, and she was taking D’s weight like it was nothing and this was it, the balm that D had needed for so long now.  D dug her fingers into Sam’s silky locks and buried her face against her sister.

This was already healing, but of course D’s brain had to counter with ‘how much worse is it going to be if Sam leaves?’  That, more than anything, terrified D.  She would fight tooth and nail to make things work with Sam through anything that came up, but that kind of required Sam sticking around.  Not that D wouldn’t follow regardless.

“You’re not going anywhere, right?”

Sam took a moment to respond, a moment during which dread built up in D.  Then a soft, “Not without you,” and D melted back into relaxation.

“Good.”

D rooted for Sam’s mouth and hummed when their lips met for another soft, slow kiss.  They made out for a few gentle minutes until Sam’s fingers teased at the hem of D’s shirt and D pulled away with a smile.

"Why'd you give me clothes, anyway?  I thought the idea was to get rid of them?"

Sam smiled and tugged on the hem.  “Thought it would be more comfortable than just coming out in your birthday suit.  Aaaand one of my earliest and favorite fantasies about you was imagining fumbling with you like stereotypical teenagers in the Impala.  Y’know, making out and sliding my hands under your clothes, slowly stripping you.”

D stared into the glittering hazel eyes.  God, she was so gone.  “Holy shit, Sam.”

“And then fucking you so hard in the backseat that you didn’t even care about the upholstery.”

“ _Jesus_.”

“That last part is going to have to wait a while, obviously, but I thought you might indulge me a little?”  She peeked up at D from under her lashes with that mischievous, flirty look again and fuck, it was like the power of puppy eyes times a million, distilled into pure sex.  Where the hell did Sam learn that?

D leaned down and soundly kissed the look off Sam’s face.  As soon as she broke the kiss, she climbed past Sam onto the bed towards the pillows.  She settled down on her side and smiled at Sam, who was just kind of looking at her.  She patted the space next to her and Sam finally got the picture and pulled up onto the bed.  She unhooked the strap that held the remaining curtain back and suddenly they were enshrined in soft, filtered light, and even the barely-there scents of the room vanished, just leaving them.  Bless the cleaning products and fancy fabric this place used.

Sam flopped down next to her like a whale falling back into the ocean.  She kept the observation to herself.

“So I’m guessing I did okay with the nest?  You haven’t kicked me out yet.”

D nuzzled into Sam’s shirt from yesterday, which was draped over the pillow she had claimed.  Her sweater was mostly hidden under the splay of Sam’s hair.  There were bundled up blankets bracketing them and at least three plush layers under them.  It was good.

She scooted closer to her sister and reached out to fondle the highest fastened button of Sam’s shirt.  “I dunno, I think it could use some more clothes.”

“Smooth.”

“I thought so.”

They shared a few lazy kisses, their hands still.

“So how far are we going with this?  What ages are we in this fantasy?  Are we still 4 years apart?  Have you been kissed yet, or is it all new?  Am I experienced and showing you the ropes or should I pretend to struggle with your bra clasp, or…?”

Sam laughed.  “You talk a lot when you’re nervous.”  She propped up on her elbow and leaned over until D dropped down onto her back, not unlike the night before.  Unlike last night, though, her lips actually made contact against D’s jaw.  “My alpha would be more than happy to steer this time, have you just follow my lead.  You wouldn’t have to worry about anything.  How does that sound?”

That sounded amazing.  She was so far out of her depth with this.  She’d never had sex that actually _meant_ something before.  It’d always been about fun and adrenaline and hormones, never about feelings.  There had never been anything at stake, and she was kind of terrified of fucking this up from the get-go.

“Your alpha won’t take that as a cue for how it’s going to be all the time, will it?  I’m not much of a ‘lay back and think of England’ kind of gal.”

Sam lifted up, brushed her hair over one shoulder, and made eye contact with D.  “Even if it does get too toppy, we’ll figure something out.  I really think it’ll calm down after we’re mated, though.  Like, 98% sure.”

D had done a hell of a lot worse on far less.  “It worries me how much you’re saying we’ll figure things out.”

“What can I say, I’ve got faith in us,” Sam said with such a blinding smile that it would have been physically impossible for D to not kiss her.

“I’ll still kick you out if you get too out of hand,” she whispered when they broke to breathe.

“I should hope so.”

D grabbed her hand and set it on her hip, right where her shirt was riding up.

“Alright, show me what you got, baby sis.”

Her breath punched out when Sam’s pheromones spiked, mingling with her own at last.  Her insides fluttered in comfort and want, and she laughed.

“Really?  Was it the permission to have your way with me or the ‘baby sis’?”

“Both?  Getting everything I ever wanted?”  Her eyes were all gooey with the same emotions that D had tried to suppress over the years, warmth and humor and so much love that D had to blink back tears.

“You’re embarrassing.  Less talking, more fumbling, Sammy.”

Turned out Sam wasn’t a purist at acting out fantasies, because the slow, confident caressing was the furthest thing from fumbling.  D was tense, nervous and new, for the first few passes over her ribs, until Sam detoured and massaged her nape and scalp and deepened their kisses until D’s body got on board with the leave-it-to-Sam agenda and she melted back into the bed.  She pulled Sam down as she went, pulling her further on top of her.  She worked blindly at Sam’s buttons and got lost for a moment in her silky hair when she tried to get the shirt off her shoulders.  She dug her fingers into the roots of the soft, extra-wavy hair at the base of her skull and Sam groaned loud, grinded her erection against D’s leg, and pulled away from the kiss with a hard nip that went straight to D’s clit.  Hair pulling was a ‘fuck yes,’ then.

D gave another tug before she returned to her original mission and shoved Sam’s overshirt off her shoulders.  Sam raised up to get it off and D tugged her undershirt too, before taking her own shirt off.  Affection swelled in her as she watched Sam dutifully tuck their shirts in place in the nest.  She stopped Sam from descending again by stroking up her ribs and giving her taste of her own sensual medicine.

Her mouth went dry when Sam’s nipples hardened, showing through the soft cotton of her sports bra.  She zeroed in on a mole just below the band and jumped when firm fingers dug under her own bra band and skimmed over a nipple.  She whined at the teasing jolts of pleasure and pushed Sam’s bra up until she could see underboob, then pulled from the top.  Sam gasped and bucked when the elastic band dragged tight across her nipples before clearing the swell of her breasts.

D could feel Sam’s glare but ignored it in favor of finally getting her hands on Sam’s fantastic rack.  She cupped the round breasts and stroked with her thumbs—smooth brown areola, the wrinkled base of the nipple, the pink-tinted taut nub, and back down the other side and back again.  She squeezed gently, relishing the soft give and how they were barely too big to fit in D’s spread fingers.  She let go for a second to sit up because she needed her mouth on them—and whined when Sam slammed her down before she could even get half up.

Sam’s bra got added to the nest, and D made another attempt at her boobs when Sam made her lift up to get her bra off too, but her sister kept her down with one hand while D’s slip of a bra was stuffed between their pillows.  The hand keeping her still slid down and rubbed her teeny tits while Sam shifted so that she was no longer straddling D’s leg, instead both her knees were to the side of D’s hips, which—holy shit, Sam was a genius.

She moaned a little when Sam’s rack filled her field of vision, and didn’t waste a moment to stretch forward and mouth against the curve of one breast before closing her over the nipple with another moan.  Sam lowered, pushing D back into lying down and latching a hand into D’s hair.  D was in heaven—mouth and hands full of Sam’s soft, warm breasts, nose full of their pheromones, ears full of quiet, slick noises and Sam’s tiny hisses and gasps.  She could stay there forever.  Could hardly believe that she was there at all.

A squeak startled out of her when fingers skirted across the sensitive skin just under the waistband of her shorts.  Sam tugged the drawstring knot loose and her fingers immediately slid under, onto the cotton of her panties and D’s breath shuddered.  She tilted her head to watch, and Sam was on to something, because it was erotic as hell watching the movement under her pajamas as Sam followed the curve of her vulva, steady pressure over her hood and labia.  The fabric tented slightly as fingertips angled to drag back up and D bucked and whimpered against a swollen nipple when the fingertips caught against her clit.  Another burst of pheromones was accompanied by D’s insides fluttering and the realization that she wasn’t in as much discomfort as she should be.

“D?  Are you…?”  Sam echoed D’s thoughts.

“I don’t…”

Quick fingers ducked under her panties and she keened and shuddered as Sam’s fingertips traced down her slit, over swollen clit and folds, and dipped to touch lightly against her entrance.

“Sam!”

“Holy _shit_ , D, you are.  That’s—” There was a jarring lack of sensory input, except sudden cold, when Sam pulled away.  She sat back on her heels and started tugging at D’s clothes.  “Off.  Off,” she instructed.

D lifted her hips and let Sam shimmy her shorts and panties off.  The shorts were hastily tucked under blankets and D’s panties were tossed up by her head and she was probably bright red.  A foreign shyness urged her to shield her crotch with a hand and close her legs around it, but Sam wasn’t even paying attention, too busy struggling to get out of her own jeans and underwear.  D didn’t even manage to glimpse Sam’s erection before her sister was tummy-down on the end of the bed.

Warm hands stroked over her ankles before circling them and pulling them apart.  D went easily, let her bowlegs fall wide apart, leaving plenty room for Sam to move up the bed.  Sam rested her temple on D’s inner thigh and ran her hand over D’s.  Her eyes were bright and held silent instruction.  D drew her hand back up to her navel and watched with hot cheeks as Sam watched the reveal.  Sam shifted even closer and reached one hand up to push D’s labia to the side to reveal her entrance.  D whimpered from embarrassment and the sensation of Sam’s breath and her actual real-life fingers on her.

“How do you feel?  Really hot?  Feverish?  Fuzzy?”

“I’m always really hot.”  Her suave was completely ruined by the creak in her voice, but Sam looked up at her with a grin anyway.

“You are.  And not in heat.  Which means that you’re wet just for me.”  D whimpered and Sam tucked in close again.  “Well, slightly damp.  Which is a lot, considering, right?”

“Most since my first heat.”  And between yesterday and Sam’s fascination today, it was amazing D hadn’t died from embarrassment yet.

“Jesus, D.”

And then Sam’s tongue was on her and D yelped and arched like she’d been electrocuted.  Sam gave a deep groan and hands circled D’s hips to keep her reigned in, and then pulled her down even more against Sam’s mouth.  She couldn’t even process—Sam lapped up what little slick D had, and her soft, hot tongue licked messily up and across her labia and hood, easing the way.  D’s spine was all lit up and those tingles in her sides and hips were back and she bucked against Sam’s hold and the point of Sam’s nose bumped her clit and D cried out and came.

Her hips and legs were still twitching a little as she caught her breath and opened her eyes to check in with Sam.

Sam was still on her stomach between D’s legs, looking up at her with eyes that were even darker and more intense than the looks she’d given D the day before.  The beginnings of unease prickled across her nape.

“Sam?”

Her sister took in a deep breath and her eyelashes fluttered.  And then she was gone again, except this time she slid right off the bed, to the other side of the curtains.  D sat up and stared at the hand that crept back in and settled by D’s hip.

“Sorry.  Alpha needs a moment.”

“Oh.”  D flopped back down and curled onto her side around the hand.  She ran a finger across the back and it flipped over, so she held it.  “You okay?”

“Will be.”

She nodded and took a few deep breaths.  Yeah, she could smell it again, that elusive scent of Sam being ready to pop.  If they didn’t have to take it slow, if she was normal—

“Wait, is that your ‘I want to shove my cock in you this instant’ face?  Because I saw that face a lot yesterday.  A lot before then, too, actually.  I always thought it meant you were angry.”

“Told you, it’s always there.  Just worse sometimes.”  There was a pause and D could see Sam’s silhouette shift into sitting back on her heels.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You haven’t.”  She tightened her grip on Sam’s hand and swallowed.  “Once we do this, is there a way to fix me?”

“You’re not broken.”  Something they had in common: other people’s angst was infinitely easier to address than one’s own.  It was a nice effort on Sam’s part, but they’d both just been shocked that D, a literal omega, had gotten sort of wet.  “Stop taking suppressants and hope for the best?  I’ll look more into it when we leave.”

D hummed assent and stroked over Sam’s knuckles.

“How can I help you, y’know.  Pop.”

“Not sure.  Say my name five times in a mirror with the lights off?  Finger up my ass?  Acting like a cheerleader at a pep rally?”  She squeezed D’s hand.  “It’s a matter of relaxation, I think.  Trusting myself, trusting that I’m not fucking up or hurting you.”

“Well, the mating bite is gonna hurt me a little.  And I’m not a wimp.”

Sam pulled her hand away and for a second D thought she’d made her feel bad.  Then her face emerged from under the curtains.  She stared at D with lucid, mostly-normal eyes for a beat and settled her chin on the mattress.

“Where do you want the bite?”

Good question.  Not too high where beta witnesses would see it and refuse to talk to her.  But she definitely wanted it to hit a scent gland.  She wanted others to know she was claimed.  She kneaded the flesh between her neck and shoulder until she found the gland.  She put a finger on the back and bottom of it and shifted to show Sam.

“Here?”

Sam nodded and slipped back onto the bed, nudging her way under D’s legs and then just lying there.

“That was fast.”

“Years of practice.  And you’re one to talk.  I hadn’t even warmed up and you came.”

“It’s been a while.”  D considered leaving it at that.  “And it’s you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sam offered mercifully with a minimum of smirking.

“You should—holy shit.”

Sam froze in the middle of crawling back towards the pillows.  Brown hair obscured D’s view for a moment as Sam glanced around.

“What?”

D pointed.  “That’s what you want to stick in me?!”

Sam glanced down at herself and pouted at D.  “I mean, I’m not going to stab you or something.  ‘Stick it in’ is so crass.”

“There’s no way that’s going to fit, Sam, what the hell,” D squeaked.

Sam settled so they were facing each other.  D couldn’t look away from the dick resting on her thigh.  She hadn’t seen Sam naked since she was about 10, and back then her dick had still been small and pale beige-pink.  This monster was… okay, actually kind of nice aside from the sheer size—darker tan with a rosy flush, curved up slightly, very smooth except for a couple prominent veins and the loose, wrinkly skin at the base where—

“And that’s not even with your knot!  That thing’s like a whole other inch of width, right?”

Sam’s brow furrowed.  “Have you never…?”

D shifted and eyed Sam’s crotch.  Sam shook her head.

“Not to be designationist, D, but your body is literally designed to fit a big dick.   That’s what your pseudo-cervix and the extra space between it and you actual cervix are FOR.  And your vagina can expand more—”

D clapped a hand over Sam’s mouth.

“Can we stop with the unnecessary sex ed talks already?  I know about my bits and pieces.  And I’m not sure your piece is going to fit in my bit.”

Sam sighed against her palm and D huffed in token protest when her little sister bowled her over again.  Okay, feeling it against her hip without seeing it was pretty hot.  _It_ was hot.  And hard.  And huge.

Sam tilted D’s face towards her own and damn her and her sparkly puppy eyes and gentle smiles.  It wasn’t fair.

“It’s going to be fine.  We’re going slow, remember?  And don’t forget that I’m not nearly as well-equipped as you are, but if we went slow enough, I could take your freakin’ hand, right?  So you’re going to be just. Fine.”

“Fisting?  You kinky bitch.  It’s always the quiet ones.”

“I said that I could, not that I want to.  Although, I’m hoping you want to try this.”

D sighed and relaxed back into the pillow and clothes.  “Yeah, I wanna try.  Just be warned that if it hurts, I may punch you.”

“Noted,” Sam whispered against her lips and then they were kissing again.  Sam’s hands were even more firm while caressing her—neck, tits, tummy, thighs, then settling into cupping her vulva, the heel of her hand firm against her clit, making D whimper and squirm.  The weight of Sam’s hand over her, like it was shielding her, was weirdly comforting.

“I didn’t actually grab the lube we bought, and you’re still not nearly wet enough.”

“Sorry, jeez.”

“I’m not complaining, just explaining why I’m getting up.”

She shifted away and D grabbed her hip.

“Wait.”  She bit her lip, feeling weirdly shy again.  “You…you get wet, right?  Holding back your knot hasn’t affected that?”  Sam nodded.  “And we’re going bare anyways?”

Sam settled back down.

“Now who’s kinky?”

“Resourceful.”

Sam hummed and ran her hand through D’s bangs and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“You don’t think that’ll tip you towards a heat?  What you said about last night…”

“Was about being claimed and smelling right, I think.  So lube may actually be worse.”

“Okay.  How do you want me to…?”

“From on top of me if you can.”

Sam nodded and rearranged slightly onto her knees straddling D’s thigh and her chest resting on D’s. D ran a hand up Sam’s side, over the dip of her waist, up the expanse of her ribs and shoulder blades, and back down to grab her ass.  Sam jerked slightly when she squeezed, and D’s mouth went a little dry when she felt pre-come slide down her thigh.  Fuck.  Okay.  She squeezed again, harder, and Sam gave her a look.  Sam’s hair fell down onto D’s chest when her shoulder dipped to reach between her legs like the night before.  The cool waves shifted minutely against D’s tits and Sam-sex-scent got thicker and her dick twitched and let another blurt of pre-come against D’s thigh and D was suddenly breathless and aching again.  She wasn’t fuzzy, though, so not sliding into heat yet.

She groaned like someone dying when slick fingers glossed over her slit and dipped into her.  Her hips bucked to get the fingers deeper, but Sam pulled away with a hushing noise that D just bared her teeth at.  A couple moments later the fingers were back and two pushed as far into her as they could—solid and perfect and not nearly enough.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” Sam groaned as she pulled her fingers back out.

She came back a second later and, oh fuck, that had to be three fingers, D could feel the stretch and her insides fluttering.  She considered snarking about going slow, but it was good.  If this dragged out, she might die from overstimulation.  “ _Told_ you,” she snarked instead.

Sam hooked her fingers while dragging back out this time, and brushed her lips high across D’s cheek and D almost accidentally kneed her when she curled inward with a short cry.  She fell back down and took in a deep breath just to have it rush back out when fingers slid into her again.

“You’re wetter than I thought, though, so that’s good.”

“Jesus Christ, Sam—ah!” Sam started spreading her even wider on her fingers and her thumb joined the party by brushing teasingly over her clit.  She was panting and trembling and too full of little shocks of pleasure along the current of tension already building between her hips.  She was going to kill Sam.  Almost a year of no touching and then she expects D to handle this?  “Fuckin’—get to it!”  God, her voice was shaky, even.

“You sure?”

D smacked her ass.

“Okay, but remember, if you want to stop or slow down, you have to tell me.”

Honestly, fuck slow.  At this point, if Sam didn’t knot her within 5 minutes, D would take drastic measures.  She didn’t know what those measures would be, but they would damn well find out together.

Sam shifted again and D felt ridiculous about feeling shy when Sam spread D’s thighs wide so she would fit.  It didn’t help that Sam was staring at her crotch, though.

“My eyes are up here.”  The nest was full of them-sex-scent and she’d just had Sam three fingers deep in her and yet her voice came out uncertain.  Fucking ridiculous.

To her credit, Sam made eye contact immediately, all puppy eyes and a goofy smile that D kind of wanted to wipe off her face.  So she pulled her down for a kiss.  Panic flashed across Sam’s face for the split second it took her to find purchase to support her weight, and the surprised noise was followed by moans from both of them when Sam’s dick bumped against D’s hood.  D recovered quickly and fisted a hand against Sam’s scalp, gaining another moan, and brought her down for a few deep kisses.

Sam pulled away again and sat back on her heels.  She swept her hair over one shoulder and ran her hands up D’s thighs.

“You ready?”

She took a deep breath and tried to get her muscles—her vagina especially—to relax.  The moment of truth, basically.

“Show me what you’ve got, little sister.”

Sam’s swollen lips quirked.  She ran her thumb up D’s slit and it was so weird but nice to feel actual slick there after so long.  Lube was never the right texture.  But now she was prepped and wet with her and Sam’s juices, already so much more than she’d ever dared to think up.  It was going to be fine.  Sam wanted this, wanted her.

Her sister’s attention was back at their groins, and D kept her own gaze fixed on Sam’s face.  If she saw that monster nearing her, she might tense up again.  She would take it, though, either way.  Next time—and god, yes, there’d be a next time—she’d make Sam be the one lying back, and she’d explore every part of Sam’s giant dick and vagina with her fingers and tongue, catalogue every texture and scent and—

A big hand settled on her right hip and there was a nudge of something against her folds.  She let out a deep, shuddering breath, and reached down to spread her labia to help Sam aim.  Hazel eyes flicked up to meet hers for confirmation, and then there was pressure at her entrance.  It increased and D bore down and then suddenly she was spread wide around the first inch or so and she gasped raggedly and pushed away, up towards the headboard.  For a split second, Sam’s hand on her hip tightened before she released and D moved back another couple inches.  She fell back against the pillows and panted.  Holy mother of god.

“D!  Are you okay?”

She felt bad when she saw how worried Sam looked.  And how bright red her cock had become since she’d last seen it—it probably hurt a little by now, like her clit did when it didn’t get enough attention fast enough.

She ran a hand over her eyes and double checked that her nervous system was still able to process input besides overwhelming pressure.

“Yeah, Sammy.  Just different from what I was expecting.”

“Shit, I hurt you?  We can try later, D, we’ll figure something—”

“Oh my _god_ , shut up.”  D squirmed back into place and tried to ignore that Sam’s eyes were a little teary.  She felt guilty, but didn’t know how to reassure her.  “It’s just really intense.”

Sam at least seemed to catch on that D wasn’t in agony or wanting to stop.  “Good intense or bad intense?”

D took a deep breath and relaxed again.  Smiled.  “I’ll keep you posted.  Let’s try again?  I’m for real ready this time.”

Her sister still seemed hesitant, so D reached down between them and grabbed her dick.  She guided a whimpering Sam back to her and set the cockhead against her entrance.  She propped up to give Sam a chaste kiss and whispered her permission against round lips.

She groaned, her arm gave out, and she hit the pillow when Sam slid in, big and slow.  The pressure alone was more intense than probably half the orgasms she’d ever had, and the friction against stretched and hypersensitive walls set off firecrackers all down her back and limbs.  Those sparks were gathering again and the baseline of pleasure that had built while Sam fingered her spiked and held steady.

It was thrilling, feeling her body give way to Sam.  Like everything else in her life, accommodating her baby sister, giving her everything D had, and Sam taking everything she happily offered.  She was in a soft nest made by her alpha, she was immersed in them-scent, her body had broken its dry spell for her mate, and now she was trembling again, so fucking full of Sam.  She could feel her sister’s claim with every nerve of her body and every reward center in her brain.  Not just full—overflowing.

“Fuck, it’s good, Sammy.  It’s good.”

“You’re sure?”

D looked up at her sister, took in the wide eyes, the brow scrunched with effort, the tight corners of her mouth.  Fighting so hard against something that most people thought was involuntary, and winning, because she was kind and strong and stubborn, and fuck but D loved her.

She reached up and pulled Sam down until their tummies were flush against each other and she could feel the weight of Sam’s breasts just barely touching her own tits.  She tracked down one of Sam’s hands and rooted until she could hook her pinky around Sam’s.

“Definitely sure.”

She kissed Sam’s dimples and nose and bucked her hips, drawing a sharp gasp.

“You can move and you don’t have to be so careful.  I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

Sam let out a shuddery breath against her neck.  D anchored a hand in her hair close to her scalp and at her waist, good grips for throwing someone off, reassuring.  It took another murmured encouragement before Sam started moving in slow thrusts.

Once she got going, though, her hesitancy vanished.  Her mouth was all over, smothering D in kisses and licks and nips.  Her hands clutched at D’s hair, jaw, tits, waist, hips, thighs, hands, fucking everywhere.  Her thrusts surged like a tide, smoothing out the jagged hurts of the past year, and D could have drifted in the feeling forever.  And then Sam had to go and change the angle of her hips and suddenly D was on the fast track to coming again.

“Fuuuuck, Sam.”  She dug both her hands in Sam’s hair and bit hard on Sam’s lower lip, prompting a growl that tipped D even closer.  “Tell me you’re about to pop,” she demanded between heavy breaths.

“I’m trying!”

D pulled her back to look at her flushed face, the wrinkle of concentration between her eyebrows, her blown eyes.

“So help me, Sammy, if I need to stick a finger up your ass and chant ‘rah,’ don’t think I won’t.”

Sam’s face opened in an incredulous laugh, and then went slack as Sam gasped sharply.  The change in her scent was drastic: suddenly deeper, muskier, and potent.  D’s vagina clenched reflexively and they both groaned as Sam’s thrust stuttered.

“Yeah?”  D flicked her gaze over Sam’s stunned expression.  As soon as Sam nodded, D was in motion.

She pushed away like before, shuddering when Sam slid out of her, and got on her knees.  She pressed her upper body against soft blankets and pleasure spiked through her when she arched her back into a presentation pose.  D had a split second to be annoyed that her omega was rewarding her for good behavior and then Sam was sinking back into her.  She groaned heartily against the plush covers when Sam’s dick somehow hit even deeper than before.  And then she felt it, a bump against her entrance, fucking hell, Sammy’s knot.

“S-Sam, get ready to bite.”

Sam folded over her and started slamming into D, knocking loose a bunch of embarrassing sounds from deep in her.  She had barely adjusted to the incredible pressure and friction and now Sam was hitting some new, bright spot in her, and her O was ecstatic, and she was so fucking ready.  She tilted her head to give Sam more room to find her scent gland and Sam had her nose burrowed against her skin in the next moment.

“Fuck, D.”

“I know,” D managed.  It was hard to talk when you were being fucked within an inch of your life.  She jerked back to meet Sam’s thrust and the growl that Sam gave made D’s entire body quake.  Fuck, she had like a minute tops before she was coming whether she wanted to or not.  “Mate me, Sammy, c’mon, baby girl, give it to me.”

Sam keened and jerked forward hard and D screamed into the pillow when her body gave in all at once, stretching so wide around her little sister’s knot and something deep and almost painfully sensitive yielded and let Sam’s cock punch past and D’s insides clenched tight and fuck fuck D was coming again oh god.  Sam whined and D barely registered lips against her neck before there was a sharp flare of pain and her insides flexed even harder and oh _fuck_ she could feel Sam’s cock pulsing and filling her up.  Sam growled again, even deeper, and D could feel it through the teeth puncturing her, changing and claiming her forever, and D flailed—she couldn’t process, could barely feel her actual skin, too stuffed full of Sam, too much and amazing and impossible and this may be how she died.

As it was, she just passed out for a while.

 

* * *

 

Fuck, she was sore.  Especially— “Owww, _fuck_!”

“You okay?”

Where the hell— “What are you doing down there?”

Sam was sitting, wrapped in a blanket, by D’s knees.  “Is it bad?  Do you want some ibuprofen?”

It felt like a worn-down bear trap had attacked her neck.  If only sex endorphins lasted longer.

“I’ll be fine.  You?”

Seriously, Sam was going to kill her—if not from exertion, then from her heart giving out in the face of gorgeous smiles.

“It’s like a sea after a storm.  It’s so quiet, it’s weird.”

“That’s awesome, I’m glad you were right.”  She shifted onto her side and groaned.  “And good thinking on the whole starting slow thing, because I might have actually died otherwise.”

Some of the color drained from Sam’s face as her smile dropped and D felt bad.

“Good dead, though.  No regrets,” she backtracked.

Hazel eyes fell to D’s stitches where her leg was sticking out of the blanket tucked around her.  The forlorn look from a couple days ago was back.  Unacceptable.  Sad expressions shouldn’t be anywhere near where they just consummated their mating.  D patted the space next to her and stared unabashedly when Sam let the blanket fall away as she laid down.  Goddamn, D was lucky.  She ran a hand over her mate’s cheek and into her hair.

“Okay,” D conceded, “One regret: that I didn’t drag all this emo angst shit out of you at the very beginning.  Seriously, Sammy, years lost.”

Round lips pursed in a smile Sam tried to hold back.

“I’ll make it up to you, omega.”

The discomfort between D’s legs and at her nape throbbed with the uptick in her pulse, and her newly altered pheromones seeped out.  The ache and the scent were exhilarating, and she was going to get all hot and bothered if she paid any attention to all the signs that Sam had claimed her, that Sam wanted her, wasn’t going to leave.  D wiggled closer and hooked her pinky against Sam’s.  Sam mirrored her smile.

“I’ll hold you to that, alpha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of stress this fic has put me through, good lord :3333 I love it, and I hope you enjoyed!!!
> 
> If you want some more wlw smut, check out the next fic in the series, which is a heat timestamp (should be up by this evening)
> 
> Concrit is welcome. Kudos and comments make my day!!!!


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